“Beware the Barabberwock, my son!
The finger flips, the religion clings!
Beware the BideBide bird, and shun
The welshist Shekelsting!”

He took his sophies sword in hand:
Long time the middie foe he sought –
So rested he by the dulcet tree,
Did teleport awhile in thought.

And, as in hopcha thought he stood,
The Barabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came spattle through the dedings wood,
And orwast as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The sophies blade went wallbanger-bling!
He left it dead, and with its head
He put it on a spring.

“And, who was slain by Barabberwock?
Called to arms, my leg-tingle boy!
O Social day! Commue! Commay!’
They chortled in their joy.

`Twas ACORL, and the slithy corfs
Did spind and weffle in the dask:
All fleemy were the boromorfs,
And the pfleg wraite outermask.