Don't touch that thing,

You don't know where it's been,

You don't what it is

But I'll tell you again.

It could have been in the dump,

Because it was thrown away,

It could have been Bill Shatner's wig,

But it's been here today.

It could be a moldy cake,

Or even some aspirin,

Or a box of sweet 'n' low,

All full of saccharine.

It might be a dirty diaper,

Or a bunch of apple cores,

It could be lint and jelly beans,

Or leftover meat from a store.

It could be anything,

Left here for a million years,

Just there deteriorating,

Poked by ancient tribes spears.

It could be peanut butter and jelly,

Or oysters dipped in jam,

Or even Fred McDougal,

Who died when hit with a pan.

I tell you this because I touched it,

And for this, I am not glad,

Because ever since I touched it,

My skin's been coloured plaid.