Lyrics

Mobely Toggle, the genical trog,
Burgled the bark in a bosch-apple bog.
Tripping and trumming in the califous bong
With his caribous murftoose loping along.
Safely and soonly and homerous, too,
He sparked up a trad for some bosch-apple stew.
Babble and scrabble and bother the flit,
Trimmly and scrimmly and portify it.

If you know what I mean,
If you get my scene,
And know the game I'm playin'.
If you catch my drift,
If you dig my gift,
And follow what I'm sayin'


Eat all the bosch in a grammical bunch.
Grab up the trabble and have them for lunch.
Now, leaping and sneaping, old Lerking the Lark,
Hazeled the trog and his burgledy bark.
Old Lerking the Lark, with his paribous groats,
Took out his prab and took minious notes.
As the bark reached a babble in the fraggerous trad,
In rushed the Krimmlings, traddling mad.

If you know what I mean,
If you get my scene,
And know the game I'm playin'.
If you catch my drift,
If you dig my gift,
And follow what I'm sayin'

Mobely Toggle, the genical trog,
Was taken away at a garrimous jog
The trial was a model of chortle and chote.
He was sentenced to stay in the bog in a boat.
Old Lerking the Lark, with his mannerous grace,
Had flawlessly prommed this maggerous case.
For a trog can be pumous with bosch-apple bark,
But a Krim can take notes without making a mark.

If you know what I mean,
If you get my scene,
And know the game I'm playin'.
If you catch my drift,
If you dig my gift,
And follow what I'm sayin'