-a puppet show in 4 Acts-
With the greatest of skill – at the top of a hill –
She whistled a tune just like girls on hills will…
And it rose through he gloom of the chimneys that bloomed
In the city
Bedazzled and dumbstruck she’d gaze at the pump
As it brazenly blazed all the shtuff into Gump!® –
Yes, the World’s Finest Gump!®™
that they sold by the lump.
Our Gump!® is the Greatest!™ the Gumpslingers said –
It keeps bees away and it buys us our bread –
It generally pleases – It brings bigger breezes –
It’s new and improved with just of half the leaaaaad.
But day after day, bit by by… year by year,
the smog from the pump made the sun disappear.
They are stealing the sun – and I’m sick of that gump! –
Sang the girl
Oh the boss crossed his heart –all y’all look at that bump
– Where she whistles and waves as we slave at the pump –
She is stealing the sun bit by bit with each jump.
Yes, it’s she, and not we, but we all pay the price.
It is she and not we and that’s not very nice.
So he called up a lad with a broom and wink,
And he said it is time that we sweep up this stink.
You’re promoted to Lad Who Makes Tattlers Not Tattle –
So man up and clam up and make her scidattle.
The boy climbed he hilltop – the one known as Grumbly –
And took nimble steps so as not to be stumbly –
But then, something made him stop still… and stare dumbly…
In mists rose a whistling swoonifulous song
And his dreams filled with hopes as he whistled along –
And voila! – the girl smiled and gave him a bell
And together they belled and they belled for a spell.
Yes, they belled and they belled and they belled very well.
The tintinnabulations carried out across creation –
And the Gumpers felt less grumpy at the pump.
Up up up through pillowed plumings of the blackest chimneys blooming
In the city
So the boss sent a //frenzy// of rickity flappers –
Mechanical birds with tyrannical yappers
And //cruel curling claws quite concluding their clappers.
They flew up to sup//, but the smog was a’creepin’ –
And flappers can’t //fly when their peepers ain’t peepin’ –
And downwards they fell in one heckofa heapin’.
Next up was a burbling saber toothed penguin –
Who charged up the hill with a sickening grin –
But then fell fast asleep when they tickled her chin.
The boss bid his pumpers jump onto a bus:
Save the sun!!!, they all thundered. They huffed and they puffed.
They looked everywhere –
But the sun was not there.
The pump boss had lied. Some cussed and some cried.
That girl had not stolen that sun from that sky.
And high on a windy and worrisome hill –
Where the dust made of rust keeps the only bird ill –
They whistled a tune just like fools on hills will…
And the whistlings boomed through the chimneys that bloomed
In the city
“Oh, harrumph!” cried the boss, as he switched on the pump.
“I will trump all them traitorous chumps on that bump!
I will turn this whole town into beautiful Gump!!!”
The pump started pumping – the chimneys did huff –
But all they could blow was a small cloud of fluff.
Just a small cloud of fluff was all they could puff.
For without all the pumpers to push all the buttons
The pumps will not pump for the gump pumping gluttons.
And when it got up there, this small smoggy missile,
The girl made it vanish with only a whistle.
She blew a small whistle, not even that noisy,
And blew the smog cloud all the way to New Joisy.
And now, the whole sky is as blue as a sigh
With the flappers all happily flapping on by,
And the world, last I checked, goes on spinning and spinning,
The breeze is still teasing, the sun is still grinning…
And the Stumpers? Well they sorta wandered away
Just a’wishin ‘n’ whistlin – at least so they say.
And the girl? She’s still up on that hill till this day.
With the greatest of skill – way up high on a hill –
She whistles a tune just like girls on hills will –
And her trills cheer the gloom of the chimneys that bloomed
In the city
– The Beginning –