There was a ghost who lived by a code.
That code was 1 – 9 – 4 – 8
But he could never remember it.
He tried tattooing it on his arm
But the tattooist fled in terror.
He tried leaving little notes to himself
But the other ghosts tidied them away.
In the end he made up a little song to remember it;
“One. One. Up with the sun.
“Nine. Nine. Is it breakfast time?
“Four. Four. We all want some more.
“Eight. Eight. That’s exactly what we did…. MATE!”
He soon became famous, understandably.
Harold, the singing ghost
Even though Harold was not his name.
That was his stage name.
Everything was good,
At least until someone cleaned out his bank account.