In England’s world, a man is totin’
violin…played with emotion.
A case solved is a thrill, prompting some gloatin’.
But he don’t go to Thames River to do some boatin’.
He does swell feats over and over and over again—dead end
for those who cheat; he’s in the league of deduction.

He can understand every clue that’s in play
Flat on Baker Street is where he and Doc stay.
If you commit a crime, he’ll help put you away.
Moriarty’s a knave; his escapades are grave.
That guy sure is a killjoy; as a crook, he’s unalloyed.
But there’s swell feats over and over and over again—dead end
for loathsome thieves, ’cause he achieves in deduction.

There’s a man in France, esteemed in cogitatin’;
he does his share of contemplatin’.
He will find the truth, despite all obfuscation.
Handful of criminals he’ll cause perturbation
at first, then they will get incarceration.
Like most Frenchmen, he loves alimentation
he chews many times when he’s maticatin’.
He loves swell eats over and over and over again—bien!
After he feasts, then he does feats of deduction.

Think of Sammy Spade in San Fran, none finer,
then take a look down south, to L.A.’s data miner.
He has solved many and many a case,
and sometimes for the crooks, he’ll have to give chase.
He’ll hound ’em with a gun and never lose face.
Harassed by DA’s who won election’s race.
Paid by check for labors and makes rent on a plain place.
He does swell feats over and over and over again—godsend
for those who need a seamy piece of deduction.