A shoe, a shoe, a magic shoe

Sitting in glory in the middle of poo

What does a shoe do on a bed of glue?

Whollop the head of a smelly grue.

The light of the sun spits in my eye

and rakes the nails across my thigh

For what? I say, and I sigh

a simple slice of a spicy crow pie

Beans, beans, you’ve heard this before

Aren’t something your doggie should smear on the floor

A right-wing nut is knocking the door

But the mailbox flag will give him what-for.

The marker fumes are strong today

In a silky, satiny, moist sort of way

“Tho’art heady!” might some of you say

It’s perfect to sit in the river and play.