’Twas libo, and the vaters moto Did vape and vorcot in the smits: All shitbird were the rawhide scruffs, And the Odo scribed in fits.
"Beware the Hookenskank, my troop! The BAH it seeks, the clap it sows! Beware the Dependagash, it's mate at sea It fluffs the barrack rows!"
Top took charge sheets in his hand; Long time the blotter foe he'd fought- So at parade they did rest, 'til sun deep in West Was the sight count up or not?
