<poem>
She was snoozing on her sweezer, Many a goofish year ago, And a smile was on her beezer, As she gently scratched her toe.
She, the Maiden of Kercheezer, Hair as black as a harness tug, As is fluttered in the breezer, O'er her lovely, girlish mug.
Evening dress of green and yeller, What a shoulder she could shake And she had a nifty feller, Hight the knight of Duckandrake.
He was knock-kneed, she was cross-eyed, Oh, they were a lovely pair, How he'd fondly knock her hoss-eyed, As she gently pulled out his hair.
And her folks didn't like his beezer, But what difference did that make? And the maiden of Kercheezer, ever Eloped with noble Duckandrake. <poem>