The fifth Sausage
or
The small green plastic fork lives again.

If on a pitchfork you would sit,
Whilst hippos danced around,
Then eat a penguins vase of flowers,
and die.

For the small green plastic fork,
Is running for a gnome,
His pencil vase is an orange frog,
And the moonbeams burn his eyes.

Shoes for whales and tables tattle,
Craniums nest is not below,
A foxes name take not in vain,
The biro is dead.

If the sausage man doth gape at you,
Then tie your laces to the teachers chalk,
Spam Spam Spam Spam Spam Spam Spam
Cornflakes.

The emu plays the saxaphone,
The moose is on the drums,
The gnu's pet mouse on a lump of wax,
Is the Phantom Fishfinger.

The Pumpkin Kid is not a small green plastic fork!
Sorry again.
Son of Trotsky.

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