(Sung to the tune of "Eating Goober Peas.")
Possum by the roadside on a Summer's day.
Started to go walking, couldn't find his way.
A motor bike came rushing; there was no time to flee,
All he could do was close his eyes and raise his voice and plea:
Please, please, please, please
Miss me, scooter, please!
Don't be so capricious,
Miss me, scooter, please!
Little possums watching, just got out of school;
Saw the scooter rushing, knew it wasn't cool.
"Ma!" one of them shouted, what's next was all a blur ...
That's right -- that great big possum was not a him, but her.
Please, please, please, please
Miss them, scooter, please!
Spare my children precious,
Miss them, scooter, please!
The bike it swerved and sped on past, possum mopped her brow.
All were as safe and sound as the traffic would allow.
I know it just sounds awesome, you'd think it would appease.
But, still they all played possum -- that was their expertise.
Please, please, please, please
Miss us, scooter, please!
The rider was judicious
And missed them all with ease.
But for certain changes, this story's real enough.
I'd never stand before you and sing a line of guff.
But still there is one fact I suppose I should confide …
I didn't swerve in time, and Mrs. Possum died.
Please, please, please, please
Miss me, scooter, please!
But, possum is nutritious
She's still in my deep freeze.
Yes, possum is delicious …
she's still in my deep freeze!
