by Clockwork Charlie

Ynt Death Garden

(imagine it to the tune of
"On top of Great (or Old?) Smokie"

Deep in the Death Garden,
Where Ynts like to dine,
I lost my poor Klay balls,
Which taste so divine.
I asked every Ynt there,
If they'd seen 'em at all,
But instead of assisting,
They all raised up their claws!
Their claws, they went up!
Their claws they slashed down!
And my poor little head,
Rolled down to the ground.

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