A friend who's got daisies in his pocket

Mr. Thomas owns a red bike
And his heart flies like a kite
He gives a coin to the children
Who play war with wooden guns

Mr. Thomas remains at home
When other people go to church
In his dust booked the phone
Round it's edge things always emerge

Mr. Thomas isn't newspaper
But to me good news
When the hills do glitter the river
Where all things can choose

My grand uncle when he sees him says
"He's crazy" and starts to grin
My lil' lady Prue McKinball says:
"His head is made of straw"

Mr. Thomas isn't newspaper
But to me good news
When the hills do glitter the river
Where all things can choose
I know there's one arms corps keeper
Is quite eager, do you know why?
All the blue birds from the river
On his top hat gobble and fly

Mr. Thomas isn't newspaper
But to me good news
When the hills do glitter the river
Where all things can choose

I like to be the bounty clown
Who seems so glad in his watch
I would be always around him
So I could walk his path

Mr. Thomas isn't newspaper
But to me good news
When the hills do glitter the river
Where all things can choose