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The Pickpocketeer
There’s a Pickpocketeer
With a big silver pouch
Pickpocketing pockets
From inside my couch
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He’s sneaky and quiet
In the cushions somewhere
Hiding so well
You don’t know he’s there
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When someone sits down
What they had before
By the time they get up
Isn’t there anymore
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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
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Every house with a couch
Has this problem I hear
Pocket things just disappear
They all must have
A Pickpocketeer
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