On the grass that’s filled with goobies
Fulchaes nestling in its blades
Lies my trusty snobalob
Waiting for my hand to garble
All day long it wists and wadles
Singing songs of longibotes
Flying round the bootlelegs
Hissing with their sholvikins
Sun shines down and maubles shrivel
Phew it is too hotikins
Still sits there my snobalob
Holding on until I voodle
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