In the land of Scroodleflump, nothing works how you think.

Gruddles live in bongalodes, grass is the brightest pink.

Gruddles are slith and lanky, covered in purple fur,

Their bongalodes wood-built, when they’re sad they purr.

 

Mr. and Mrs. Gruddle are most stranculiar.

They scrunge and gruff about, their sproglet is Tulia.

Tulia has a stropple in the muddle of the floor,

Mum is having a frusset in corner by the door.

 

Daddy, who is known as Boo, leaves them with bruff sigh,

He snumptifies through blue woods beneath a yellow sky.

Spandaving a paw, he greets the creature in flong trees,

Not a squirrel or monkey, a squunkey if you please!

 

He only hopes he won’t see that beast called the fnurk,

He thinks fnurks are zooflebums who won’t jurgle or work.

Today his luck is not in, scoffling along is that jerk!

Boo tries to ignore him but “KRUNF!” says the fnurk.

 

“Why shout at me and why krunf? asks grumpy-gruddle-Boo,

“Well, it is a Wednesday,” says Fnurk, “What else should I do?”

“Expagulate, swiffy bungletop!” cries Bo, “prooking work!”

“Bet you can’t say your name backwards so KRUNF!” says the fnurk.

 

“Boofing reason,” grumbles Boo, “What if it were Saturday?”

“If it were Saturday, my friend, krunf I would not say.”

As Boo spriffled on ahead, the blue fnurk heard him try

To say gruddle backwards – the fnurk laughed till he did cry.

 

This made the gruddle very cross until he had a thought,

“Oob, Oob, Oob!” he shouted back, “you scroddywurgle snort!”

In the land of Scroodleflump where fnurks and gruddles dwell,

The squunkey winks a glite eye, the stories he could tell!