20 January, 2010


In the trulky burning, turning,
With the hulky honing, stoning,
There the pulky mixed it, sixed it,
To the bulky journing, lourning.
Well the hulky gored it, moored it,
At the wulky pouring, shoring,
Up to pulky shaven, haven,
With the bulky smoke 'em, poke 'em.

Scuttle by the wriggling waves,
Shuttle by the lapping caves,
Hop on grulk to reach the peak
During which the mulk will week.
Case by case the drulk will haul,
Heaving to the newest shoal,
So that Entrest will 'midst rate cake,
Another day, cash flow bake.

"Holla!" calls the prickly ulk,
To the jumping jellybean sulk.
"If you don't bring back my leaven, steaven,
Tomorrow I'll meet you even, reaven!"

Hurriedly the sulk, he mopes
To pace up picking the lulky ropes.
Perceiving all the milky toppings,
He also gathers creamy droppings.

All this in the trulky turning,
When the rulk is still a-burning,
And the hulky still be stoning,
Newer bladders for the honing.
The pulky by the wulky mixes still
Sixing crickets to the schill,
So that Entrest will bake and cake
All the ulk will ever make.

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