The Maiden of Kercheezer
She was snoozing on her sweezer,
Many a goofish year ago,
And a smile was on her beezer,
As she gently scratched her toe.
She, the Maiden of Kercheezer,
Hair as black as a harness tug,
As is fluttered in the breezer,
O'er her lovely, girlish mug.
Evening dress of green and yeller,
What a shoulder she could shake
And she had a nifty feller,
Hight the knight of Duckandrake.
He was knock-kneed, she was cross-eyed,
Oh, they were a lovely pair,
How he'd fondly knock her hoss-eyed,
As she gently pulled out his hair.
And her folks didn't like his beezer,
But what difference did that make?
And the maiden of Kercheezer, ever
Eloped with noble Duckandrake.<poem>