Someday you'll crimp your thumb
In practicing self-love.
And how illing that bone-bend will be
When the crimp stops the cream's coming free.
You'll blister your thumb, too. . .
Heal in a day or two.
Keep your hand away, and don't let your thumb play.
Some day you will cream anew.

It will be fine, your thumb
If your bone's left alone
You know, you must not foment your meat--
For your part, just be skipping the beats.
One day you'll see that you
Can give your dong a hew.
Keep your hand away, and don't let your thumb play.
Some day you will cream anew.

Someday you'll gimp your thumb
Thumb play on meat again.
And away to jis wrastle you'll go
And be wrapping that lever--not slow.
You'll find your thumb's the hue
Of a bird that sings on the first days of spring,
In May--thumb, like bird, is blue.