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The Bullfrog
(25 April 1854 – 3 November 1926 / Ontario)

The Bullfrog

They may talk of the bird with plumage blue,

And the bird with the bosom red ;
They herald the spring with the song they sing

And tell us old winter is dead ;
But I bet on the bird without feathers on :

The safest prophet is he,

When he sings, 'Ker-munk ! ker-dunk ! ker-flunk !'
Down in the marshy sea.

He is n't as sweet as the robin red,

Nor as fair as the birdie blue ;
But I '11 bet my dust on his wise old head,

For his prophecies aye come true.
No feathers are stuck in his blunt old tail ;

Ah, a common old codger is he,



As he sings, ' Ker-flug ! ker-glug ! ker-slug !'
Down by the willowed sea.

The straddle-bug is n't a patch on him,

And the groundhog looks like a fool,
When he hears the song that is fresh and strong,

Down in the swampy pool.
He 's loaded right up with horse-sense, high,

A wise old snoozer is he,
As he sings, ' Ker-flog ! ker-mog ! ker-slog!'

Down in the cat-tailed sea.

Oh, he never gets left, for he waits till it comes,

For he knows the genuine thing ;
When he sees by its way it has come to stay,

He hollers aloud, ' It 's spring !'
Oh, his back it is green his belly is drab,

A comical party is he,
As he sings, ' Ker-glung ! ker-bung ! ker-slung!'

Down in the flag-filled sea.

And that is why I am satisfied quite

That summer will never be near
Till out from the bog, from the top of a log,

The mellowing song you hear.
He slips no cog does the old ^bullfrog,

Oh, a dear little lu-lu is he,
As he sings, ' Ker-glunk ! ker-slunk ! ker-plunk !'

Down in the marshy sea.

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