Tune: Any 12-bar blues.
We landed on Kolchowski's and found some dragons there
with scales, talons, fire, and smoke a-soarin' through the air.
Xenobiologists are fussy, even when we're thrilled.
We want to know how they live and what the dragons kill.
And since we cannot follow them, there's just no way to cheat,
so I'm groaning 'tween the rucksack and the boots upon my feet.
I'm picking up the fewmets fuming from what dragons eat.
I'm stashing what was clashing and is undigested meat
but I refuse to be accused of avoiding the odeur
so I take pains with the remains and treat it like some haute
couture.
And I'm slinging while I'm swinging, spooning while I'm crooning
the Scat Scat.
(Improvise from here.)
Copyright © 1999, Sherman
Dorn
Last updated January 1, 1999
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