La la la la la
I'm prancing to the park
Where beneath a storming stormcloud
A daisy has the gall to grow
I am Volcanic Dancing Girl
Fresh off the plane from Reykjavik
I love my polka-dotted skirt-slash-cone
I love erupting from its tip
Along the way I spy a bee
Whose stripes and stinger anger me
So that I spew lava right at it --
It flees, and though floods and ash and doom
And clouds of blackness o'er him loom
The bee escapes
Bumbling victoriously away
From me
The supposedly-mighty volcano
