In this winky-dink town
And the boinga people
Where it's illegal to frown
And to mount the steeple.
We titter all day
And zip through doors
Where our grass is pink and houses of clay
And the town is filled with dinky stores.
Each day we wear different colors
And our mayor is a stout dog
If anyone didn't know us they'd think we were bonkers
And we don't eat meat because the mayor's wife is a hog
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