What do you think that it could be?/ A horse, a cow, a tree, a bee?/ You silly lady, don’t you see?/
There is just one hand that can knock/ It’s not a whimdingler come out of its flock/ Nor a wackzinglit in a tick-tock clock/
It’s a human hand and it’s on a spree/ That hand is free and belongs to me./
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