Nobody sees him as he walks across the road. He prefers it that way, you see. He likes to watch. He likes to spy. He likes to keep an eye upon himself. It fills him with great glee.

That’s Mister Nobody, a least discerning chap. He looks into a window and he quickly doffs his cap.
That’s MIster Nobody, a man who likes his fame. At any opportunity he’ll call out his own name.

Take a Thursday, yesterday, last Fall: the Queen asked his attention; he wouldn’t miss that call!
It didn’t matter much to him that she was dead. He just put on last year’s riding pants and carried on instead.

That’s Mister Nobody, a solicitous gent: always wondering curiously just where and when you went.
Mister N – the figure featured in this rhyme. There’s little social distance he wouldn’t care to climb.

If you’re looking for a fellow who will figure in a fete this Mister is the master who would never keep you waiting
that subject you’d be certain of, and if you fancy fun to be featured, favor him. There would be no debating!

MIster Nobody: the best among the clan. Mister Nobody; a modern major myth/take of a man.
Mister Nobody, polished to the letter. Who among us has ever known better?
Mister Nobody. That’s him. He’s slim. He’s femme. He’ll follow you on a whim.
Mister Nobody. He simply can’t be beat as a wondrous wastrel, he will not be defeated!