Hickey-pokey, we ride along,
Under the purple tree,
Through the mountain and over the wood,
Comes the gallant three.
They watch, they wait, they listen,
And when they hear no sound,
They run, they shout, they bounce,
Because the square is round.
Never such a turquoise day,
Or such a polka sky
Will ever be seen by two or three,
As like the fuchsia hound.
As like the fuchsia hound, my son,
As like the fuchsia hound,
It moos, it gurgles, it holds its breath,
For a duck walks upon his sword.
This is the end of our adventurous ride,
Though the trolley finishes the way,
We hope you had a caucus time,
And never plant corn in May.
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