(No prizes for guessing which song inspired this. Could be useful…er…if we ever have an Elizabethan-themed campfire?!)
I sing of Fred, an elk of great repute,
Of cleanly habit, and of lively mind.
His only vice? A drink of puréed fruit
Which oft he supped in bed as he reclined.
Alas! One night he met with dreadful woe,
For, though he paid it all attention due,
His drinking cup did grievously o’erflow
Upon his locks, and on his pillow too.
“Oh lackaday!” cried Fred. “My silky fur
Is stiff and sticky! How to make amends?”
He styled a quiff, and soon it did occur
That he was quite the envy of his friends.
In short, if you spill juice upon your head,
Then make the best of it, just like our Fred.