You take a pot
And mimic my nose
And copy my pose
And pracitce the ragging You rush to the spot
To play me a fool
In front of the school
You all start to gagging But then you forgot
We could see in your moth
“His teeth have rot out!”
They turn, fingers wagging Your cheecks burn hot
And you long with a frown.
Is there ever a Clown
That is last in laughing?
