The Maiden of Kercheezer

She was snoozing on her sweezer, Many a goofish year ago, And a smile was on her beezer, As she gently scratched her toe.

She, the Maiden of Kercheezer, Hair as black as a harness tug, As is fluttered in the breezer, O'er her lovely, girlish mug.

Evening dress of green and yeller, What a shoulder she could shake And she had a nifty feller, Hight the knight of Duckandrake.

He was knock-kneed, she was cross-eyed, Oh, they were a lovely pair, How he'd fondly knock her hoss-eyed, As she gently pulled out his hair.

And her folks didn't like his beezer, But what difference did that make? And the maiden of Kercheezer, ever Eloped with noble Duckandrake. Robert Ervin Howard