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I dabbled a little in nonsense verse when writing the song STRAWBERRY HOUSE, and decided to take it a little further with this little offering about a strange man:
B.S. Wattenbuttel
B.S.Wattenbuttel lived in a room
That he kept very clean with an imaginary broom
He would sweep all the dust and the cobwebs away
With a wave of his hand, but just the same, they would stay
And the days turned to months and the months turned to years
And B.S.Wattenbuttel was up to his ears
In the dust and the cobwebs he thought he'd removed
He feared he might die, and so it was proved
There was no fuss or inquest when he was found dead
For B.S.Wattenbuttel never got out of bed.
