Wicked Wetdrop flattens tiny quonges with his nose
Whinges as he busts the glass and through the window goes
“It appears” he moaned “I'm rather stoned and falling super free”
“Farewell I'm dead!” “You ain't” said Fred, “You rolled off the settee.”
The glass sphere world of wicked wetdrops, quonges short and tall
And pink and green forget me nots, and ticklish Freds and all
Can be easily seen by anyone prepared to take a stand
To have pumpkin eating blackbirds designated to the band.
Here take this clip and have a sip of light grey melancholy
And watch the tiny flattened quonge with seven sticks of holly
He used to have fourteen you know or so the story goes
I'm glad you're here with Christmas cheer stuck firmly in your nose.
“It appears” said Micked Metdrop, in a voice from underground,
“You've got both my initials written upside bleedin' down!”
Root a toot a and flootle flute and tittle twittle twee,
The distant sound of blackbirds paddling slowly out to sea,
Seated solemn on a stone we raised our cups of tea,
“Gday!” said Wicked Wetdrop, tiny flattened quonge, and me.