Three hundred and sixty-five twirls
To each of your annual whirls,
With a vortical moon
For a sort of balloon
And a meteorite in your curls,
Ump! Ump!
And a meteorite in your curls.
You can ride on the Pegasus steed,
Or the hobbledy horse on a lead;
It won't matter a bit
If you pull or you hit
There's only one possible speed,
Toot! Toot!
There's only one possible speed.
You can ride on the true lover's throne
With the lad or the lass that's your own,
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