They are delicious, are they not?
Though they’re hard to get —
One’s gotta track and hunt and plot...
But well, you know, I bet.
So many sizes, textures and...
Right, smells — good job, you guessed!
The smell is why, sand or no sand,
I love Young Master’s best.
The baby’s are, of course, not bad
But sort of lack in taste.
And Mom, oh boy, she shrieks like mad
And throws them in the waste.
Dad’s are, however, quite a blast,
And Mom’s are also good.
But Mom, she picks them up so fast...
I’d steal them if I could.
So, the Young Master is the man —
He leaves them on the floor.
Oh, how I love his smelly den
With its half-open door.
Oh my, you sense this? Gotta run!
I smell two juicy socks.
So long. Take care. This was fun.
I’ve got them, pal. Life rocks!
