All Higgly Piggly Puffily — And Billily

A song, not the echo of a song, nor the faint memory,

But a blast, a blast from the past,

Come a gamboling, vast,

Of merriment, cherished, sustaining perfect revery.

As if Puff played the fiddle, Billy the drums,

Adair chiming in there,

With soft strains and sweet hums,

Straining in joy, humming quite fair.

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