T'was custard time and as I
Snuffed at the haggis pie pie
The noodles ran about my plunk
Which rode my myrtle uncle drunk
T'was not the dreaded thrilling thud
That made the porridge taste like mud
T'was Wilburs graftiens graffen Bing
That makes black pudding want to sing
For them in music can be heard
Like the dying cough of a humming bird
The lowland chick astound agasted
Wonder how long it lasted
In this land of Lunapots
I who sail the earth in paper yachts