The tiny worms help farmers grow
Every seed they ever sow
🌿
Like lines of little tiny ink
They crawl and draw like pinkish ink
🌿
They dance and toss around in coils
While farmers toil the ground's wet soil
🌿
To youths, they yet seem quite disgusting
Raindrops fall and on worms, bursting
🌿
They'll never go and work in farms
They'd rather sit and eat the yams
🌿
They'd rather work a collar job
Than stand and work on farms like slobs
🌿
And they hate the farmer's pinkish friend
Which always will seem a fiend
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