I have a band of green turnips
All sitting in a row
They’re cracking little toy bull whips
At all the passing snow
I also own a range of bells
That chime on every hour
They congregate and make rude smells
And pester Billy’s flower
I even have an orange shoe
That sings deep purple songs
And radiates a sort of blue
That rights a nations wrongs
But what I like the very best
Is all my welly trees
Not only do they stretch my vest
But also wash my knees