Mr. Bumbley went to the cupboard —the shelves were bare. He called for help to his wife —she wasn’t there. He got out razor and comb —he’d lost his hair. He thought he’d rest for a bit —but there was a bear in his chair! Mr. Bumbley looked in the mirror --he wasn’t there. For poor Mr. Bumbley, please say a little prayer.
There were three little pigs, one, two, three —roly-poly and pink, as pink as could be-- porkers that talked just like you and me. Building their houses, these pigs were all three.
Two built their houses of stuff that was free:
the first built with straw, the second with sticks —the third, a smart pig, built with bricks. Along came a wolf with a bagful of tricks. He blew down pig’s houses, and just for kicks had this shtick that he did before getting his licks:
“I’ll huff and I’ll puff …”
Well, you get the drift, he blew down the pig digs —that is the digs of the two foolish pigs. They would not let him in (not totally stupid pigs):
"Not by the hair of our chiny-chin-chin,"
said those imprudent porkers, those two little pigs. The wolf ate them both, and danced two little jigs.
But then, to the third pig’s house the wolf came —a wise little pig destined for fame. The wolf huffed and he puffed, just the same, but this little pig put that big wolf to shame. A house built of bricks spoiled the wolf’s game. The wolf climbed atop the third pig’s house —that wolf was a louse-- and slid down the chimney but got a hot douse in a kettle a-boil on the hearth of the house. Then the third little pig ate the wolf with his spouse.
Happily ever after, lived that little pig in his house —snug as a mouse.