Dear Chomsky:
I guess Mike is trying to bring you back. I mean, it's really sad watching him devotedly drag your dead body along behind us, even if the dirt and leaves are kind of getting in your hair and everything. Maybe I should have brought a cart or something, or learned how to fly. But unfortunately that didn't happen, so I'd just like to say: I miss you, and I really hope Mike can bring you back. So I'm going to sing a sweet lullaby to you. I'm not really as good a singer as he is, but I'm going to try anyway.
Hopefully this song will make you want to drop by the Prancing Pony. Or something.
*clears throat*
Behind the hill
There's a busy little still
Where your pappy's workin' in the moonlight
Your lovin' pa
Isn't quite within the law
So he's hidin' there behind the hill
Bye bye, baby
Stop your yawnin'
Don't cry, baby
Day will be dawnin'
And when it does
From the mountain where he was
He'll be comin' with a jug of moonshine
So count your sheep
Mama's singin' you to sleep
With a moonshine lullaby
Dream of pappy
Very happy
With his jug of mountain rye
So count your sheep
Mama's singin' you to sleep
With a moonshine lullaby
Hopefully this song will make you want to drop by the Prancing Pony. Or something.
*clears throat*
Behind the hill
There's a busy little still
Where your pappy's workin' in the moonlight
Your lovin' pa
Isn't quite within the law
So he's hidin' there behind the hill
Bye bye, baby
Stop your yawnin'
Don't cry, baby
Day will be dawnin'
And when it does
From the mountain where he was
He'll be comin' with a jug of moonshine
So count your sheep
Mama's singin' you to sleep
With a moonshine lullaby
Dream of pappy
Very happy
With his jug of mountain rye
So count your sheep
Mama's singin' you to sleep
With a moonshine lullaby