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The Pickpocketeer

 

There’s a Pickpocketeer
    With a big silver pouch
Pickpocketing pockets 
From inside my couch

He’s sneaky and quiet
In the cushions somewhere
Hiding so well
 You don’t know he’s there

When someone sits down
What they had before
By the time they get up 
Isn’t there anymore

He fills his pouch full
With coins and keys
He'll take the remote control
And the crumbs that he sees

 

When your pockets are empty
Not even a cent
He’ll go back in
Just to take out the lint

Every house with a couch
Has this problem I hear
Pocket things just disappear
They all must have


A Pickpocketeer

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