THE ONLY WAY TO GO - how to find eternal happiness
Think upon a wasslethorp and watch your fissle grow
Upon your pretty gannymeed or maybe on your toe.
Gannymeeds are great with fissles on their tiny tips
But toes are even greater if their fissles have two clips
For joining toes to winkalongs when lonely in the night
Is such good fun and brings to mind a satisfying sight
So when you're ever lonely and want to find some joy
Clip your toes to winkalongs and shout aloud "ahoy!".
The fissles will droop down a bit and camouflage the clips
And sillhouette against the light the shape of pirate ships.
Gannymeeds with fissles on are very helpful too
In spreading joy to all especially those most close to you.
So concentrate on wasslethorps and watch your fissles grow
It's the fastest way to happiness; the only way to go.
If the foz is grurble tweely and its schoom is nearly gone
And the bethan twiks a foodle in the trest,
Then it’s time to ponk a glunky and reach out for a scone
Or the pain will find its way up to your chest.
Once there you’ve yolled a thurby from the front, not from the rear,
It’s a sadness that your cranket never brunt,
For brunted crankets work well on yolled thurbys so I hear,
Especially when they’re wounded in the front.
It’s not a bad condition, it's just pesky in its way
Consuming time aplenty in its wake
And there’s better pastimes waiting for those who want to play
So get your scone, or second best, a cake.
Then play hard and forthingle, always striving for your best
With no more thought for plighten signaday.
Perseverance is the model as you strive to pass the test,
And focus on the goal will always pay.
Wink-a-lot think-a-lot shrink-a-lot doh,
I’ve a bloody sore knee and a corn on my toe.
Wink-a-lot think-a-lot shrink-a-lot dah,
If I’d been halfway smart I’d have taken the car.
This walking’s for donkeys and camels and gnu
That cannot find anything better to do
Than carry a pack or migrate in the spring.
For they don’t have concerns and walking’s their thing.
If I trudge along swing my legs and my arms
In time with my breathing the rythmn becalms.
My worries get fewer, my thoughts float away.
My spirits soar up, but my lungs feel like clay.
It’s the body that tells us when we’ve had enough,
Of a life without fun that’s been rugged and tough.
The mind might attempt to inspire with words,
But loins don’t ignite if you can’t find the girds.
Wink-a-lot think-a-lot shrink-a-lot deer,
It’s cold and I’ve got a chilblain on my ear.
Wink-a-lot think-a-lot shrink-a-lot dome,
If I’d been halfway smart I’d have stayed warm at home.
