What’s wrong with you Dick
Are you getting quite thick?
You’re standing among the Jibbery Jik
Can’t you see they don’t care ’bout your hair or your clothes?
What matters to them, the most is your nose
You constantly pick it and pull out a prize
You jump up and down and wiggle your thighs
Your boogers are treasures, a delight in your hand.
You wave them about and then you demand,
“What’s this? Look here! I’ve found something awesome! Something new and fantastic! Something worthy of Dawson!”
But the Jibbery Jik do not care of your prize, not at all.
They stare you blankly, blinking eyes, standing tall.
They say “You sir, are sick, disgusting and rude.
We want nothing of you and find you quite crude.”
So in sadness you walk, booger in hand.
Wishing that they would just understand.
It’s special to you, something pure, something true.
So off with the Jik and their silly ways that they live.
It’s a pity they can’t see what joy the nose gives.
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