Lewis Carroll, he went a-walking, one blustery summer’s day,
And bumped into the Fluttersnoop, in the merry month of May.
Good Snoop, how do you rumble, in the slimy tove and stew,
And how are all the Moomraths, who used to live with you?
Good Sir, they are slip-sloth, and skoobered to a man,
But seven of them are schlepping in the back of that green van,
The rest they are out slothing, upon the snow and ice,
And doing sneckville sneckabunds, which really aren’t nice.
Snowbuff, snowbuff, the poet mused, sniganda do za roo,
I have to say I wouldn’t have a zot sarong like you.
The Snoop he cried a crystal tear, he sniffed, indeed it’s ronsense,
I’m glad that I bumped into you, you speak such fluent nonsense.
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