When you sit down at Frank's typer, why, you may like what you see
The screen scrolls up so smoothly as you tap upon the key
But when you get a printout you will fly into a rage
At the little fuzzy characters upon your page.
Those little fuzzy characters
Little blurry characters
Little fuzzy characters upon your page.
Ah, but if it's Frank that's typing, and you're reading what he's writ
And the meaning seems unclear to you, with words that do not fit
It isn't that you're foolish, and it isn't that you're dense
It's those little fuzzy sentences that make no sense.
Those little fuzzy sentences
Complex-compound sentences
Little fuzzy sentences that make no sense.
Yet if you keep on reading, you may find things coming clear
And your brain is filled with wonders, with visions new and clear
Then that's when you should worry, for he's driving you insane
With those little fuzzy paragraphs that rot your brain.
Those little fuzzy paragraphs
Right-justified paragraphs
Little fuzzy paragraphs that rot your brain.
So if you see Frank at his typer, it is best to run away
To save your sight and sanity, but if you have to stay (like me)
Then pluck the petals from his daisy wheel...
Coat his disks with superglue...
Get those little fuzzy characters before they get you!