The terrible, legendary gnarly-toothed grock
Who lurks in the hills of the south,
Lives mostly on dry bones and pieces of rock -
Which accounts for that gnarly-toothed mouth.
But sometimes in autumn, or summer or spring,
(But never in winter, I’ve heard),
He’ll going fishing for people who’ve gone for a
swim,
If their swimming attire is absurd.
So be careful your fashion sense isn’t too weird,
If you go for a dip in the water,
For he senses bad taste like a wolf senses fear,
As he slithers below for the slaughter.
He’ll sharpen his gnarly old teeth on your bones
If your swimming wear could be construed
As gaudy or vulgar: well then I’d condone,
Perhaps you should swim in the nude.
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