My father was a baker And oh, how he could bake. His bread was heavy laden And also was his cake. He surely knew his business That's how he made his dough. But often he would say to me, "Here's what I'd like to know: Where do the holes go in doughnuts When we eat the doughnuts up? I've tried to find out the answer Ever since Hector was a pup. (Woof woof!) Now, I know where mosquitos go in winter, And I know it hurts to sit down on a splinter, But tell me, where do the holes go in doughnuts When we eat the doughnuts up?"
Next song alphabetically: Who Cares Anyhow?