The frog, he is a love song, peeping there riding out the hurricane. He knows angles on triangles that no mammal's considered. That don't make him just clever and melodic, but make him invincable.

The earth, she shakes him, and he rolls, but he don't ever rattle. He's got heavy thought, candy in a thick carmel melody. He'll stay, watching us flat-head flounder and suffocate, trying to swim to the other side.

Froggie, he there, he melody. He got him a tadpole groupie caravan and a lilypad. Green stage, swamp thing, never need amp or microphone. Froggie, he gonna sing. Better learn how to breathe mammals, Froggie, he gonna sing.

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