Arrivederci - Shivaree

Arrivederci I’m cutting my hair

Tell fish and Tracy the weathers fair

Been eleven hours were on a dare

Arrivederci to my old chair

I’ve been told that the old who bargain and save

They get sold

For the gold

On the little kings grave

So goodbye to screamers

And goodnight Irene

A salty whisker won’t hurt anything