There was a man who swept the floors, no kindred young had he
He swept the floors from dusk to dawn, when no one else could see
And all around that school he marched, his song it use to be:
“I care for nobody, no, not I, since nobody cares for me.”

He lives by the broom, the scrub, and the mop, that is his humble life
The mess of all who enter there, it is his daily strife
Gum collected from filthy chairs or toilets too gross to see
“I care for nobody no, not I, since nobody cares for me”

His pay is short, not much he earns, but suits him all the same
He craves not gold, nor fancy house, nor diamonds, nor of fame
He sticks to the work that never ends nor ever ceases to be
“I care for nobody, no, not I, since nobody cares for me”

So on he goes through the path of life, and thinks himself forlorn
And on that day that he did die, the school for him did mourn
For all his work was not in vain, as soon was clear to see:
They cared for him, yes quite a lot, much more than had ever been