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I’ve got a
special bogey
I keep him as a
pet
He’s sticky,
mucky, green and yucky
Sweet and small
and wet
I call him Mr
Bogey
He lives in a
plastic pot
I found him face
down on the ground
Unconscious in some
snot
Though people
say I’m weird
Though people
say I’m odd
It’s fair to
say that me and him
Are two peas in
a pod
He watches
bogey TV
Plays bogey
music too
He wears his
little bogey clothes
And tiny bogey
shoes
I don’t want a cat
or rat
A turtle or a
tortoise
A kangaroo, a
cockatoo
A wallaby or
walrus
A snake, sea
lion or a sloth
A haddock or a
horse
Don’t you just
know the way to go’s with Mr B of course?
My friends try
to avoid him
Because he’s
full of germs
I say “don’t be
a meany to a greeny”
Take him on his
own terms
Though we go to
bogey parties
And have tonnes
and tonnes of fun
I can’t take
him on holiday
‘Cause he
shrivels in the sun
I feed him on
slime sandwiches
My bogey grows
and grows
When he becomes
a bigger bogey
I’ll return him
to a nose
Then I’ll be
sad and lonely
With no bogey
anymore
Then perhaps
I’ll find Mrs Fingernail
Lying somewhere
on the floor
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