Then with spoons for their pries dragged both of my eyes
Through that hole in my head of such terrible size.
Oh they thought they would be such poets, you see,
And such wonderful, marvelous scholars, you know,
When they planted my brains in their noddles to grow!
But my—oh—oh! what fools they were though!
For poets, you know, are like underdone dough—
And oh—my—oh! what fools they were though
When they planted my brains in their noddles to grow!
But they crammed every grain, their ill-gotten gain,