To the Spankety, Spankety Man.
He lives far away by the crimson sea,
The Spankety, Spankety Man.
In a little red house by a whip-whop tree,
The Spankety, Spankety Man.
He gathers the whips and dries them well,
With all the sting left in.
And the spankers, too, that grow on the hill,
Are gathered and dried by him.
Alice—I think you’re horrid!