A poem
I ate too much, and I laughed so much,
That I thought that I would burst.
The Consort came and picked me up,
In her souped up hearst.
With dreams of fried onions,
and of the late Paul Bunyon,
Oh, what a fright...
I tossed and turned all night.
Oh, what a pity,
I say to thee.
That this is the end
Of my little ditty.
That I thought that I would burst.
The Consort came and picked me up,
In her souped up hearst.
With dreams of fried onions,
and of the late Paul Bunyon,
Oh, what a fright...
I tossed and turned all night.
Oh, what a pity,
I say to thee.
That this is the end
Of my little ditty.