In the land where the flibberflabs flee,
There's a man who walks with so much glee.
He strides with a trot,
In circles, a lot,
And backwards as swift as a bee.
Round and round in the squoggle square,
Backwards, forwards, here and there,
In the blink of a snitch,
In a zig, in a zitch,
He walks without any a care.
With a bingle-bangle on his head,
And shoes gleaming of the brightest red,
He loops and he twirls,
In whizzing whirls,
And sleeps standing up in his bed.
In the realm where the squiggles squoggle,
And the hootmuffs frizzle in delight,
Where the twizzlers twirl and toggle,
Beneath the glippity moon so bright.
There prances the wibberly wobbler,
With a grin as wide as a splat,
Juggling seven ziggly zobblers,
And a purplicious scrunty bat.
Oh, what a sight to confuse and amuse,
In the world where the goggleberries thrive.
Where the blibberblubs sing the blues,
And the fribbles frumble and jive.
So let's toast to the squoggle's delight,
In the glippity glow of the night.
In a land filled with wibbles and wobbles,
And creatures that bimble and bobble,
With a flip and flight,
In the soft moonlight,
They all dance the globbedy dobble.
