How's 'bout them holes, in the moon.
When it orbits low, we can reach up to,
harvest cheese and retrieve
all our things back from them holes. Holes.

Burn the bread, throw it on down.
Hit the floor with the butter side down.
Heavy hands clapping, sounding out pounds.
Cut the night like the thunder thigh sounds.

Wolf takes our things, away he goes.
No one sees, no one knows
why he takes the things we own
or how they get up in them holes. Holes.

Don't look now, we're surrounded by clowns.
Eyes they smile, but the mouths they all frown down.
Big balloons and they're laughing out loud.
Eyes are black and their noses are red and brown.

We never mind, we let them go.
No one cares so it goes.
It's understood, open close.
All good things end up in holes. Holes.

The cats fall out of the trees in this town,
always land with their paws on the ground.
No where [bad word] when there's blood in the hound.
Ask me then, but the dogs are here now.

Lazy days, but we'll hunker down soon.
Far away like the holes in the moon.
Lucky day, but too frickle to try.
Types of toys to make them giggle then cry.

Lazy day, sticky stumble in view.
Held together till we tumble in two.
Cats they land with their paws on the ground.
Bread always lands with the butter side down.

How's 'bout them holes, in the moon.
When it orbits low, we can reach up to,
harvest cheese and retrieve
all our things back from them holes. Holes.