Noblock and Kerfanderbuck,
All smileytangled cockrock strop,
When down upon their midnight luck,
Came to fanglekirk the Mage of Lop.

With grindleslate held tight in hand
And trosset firmly held aloft,
They knocked three times in Slambercand
And waited for the Mage to sloft.

An age had past, he sloft at last
And drew the heavy bolts aside.
The ancient breath was fannyflast
Like spastic pig formaldehyde.

Said the Mage of Lop, "What brings you here,
To disturb me in my posset bed?"
And at his voice, all full of fear,
The fenny bentleys all dropped dead.

His dreaded words hung in the air,
Like splap pigeons on a callowphratt,
And all good men should have a care
Or jocker like a mimsy twatt. 

Said Noblock and Kerfanderbuck
As they grimly fell upon their knees,
"We come in search of Monstatruk
He owes us fifty quid for cheese." 

The Mage of Lop was full of glin
And bid them rise up from the floor:
"There is no Monstatruck within
I think you boys should try next door."

So Noblock and his next of kin
Resolved to call another day.
The grindleslate went in the bin,
They said 'goodbye' and went away.