People say somtimes there’s nothing to search

But what about that tree, wasn’t it, Birch

If you don’t wonder, you’ll never hear it thunder

Little Words, but big hurd’s

Big Words, and lot’s of bird’s

I remember you used to could buy a pop-sickle with a nickle

Now everything seems to be in such a fickle

Things now sure are rough, but oneday for me their going to fluff

I will grow to become more tough and not take anybody’s stuff

I’ll tell them to shut up, I’ve heard that enough

Little Words, but big hurd’s

Big Words, and lot’s of bird’s