The honey bee
The honey bee is sad and cross
And wicked as a weasel
And when she perches on your boss
She leaves a little measle.
I wish I was a little grub
With whiskers round my tummy,
I'd climb into a honey pot
And make my tummy gummy.
And wicked as a weasel
And when she perches on your boss
She leaves a little measle.
I wish I was a little grub
With whiskers round my tummy,
I'd climb into a honey pot
And make my tummy gummy.
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