The House of the Mouse, a dynasty so grand,
With characters and parks in almost every land.
From the humblest of squeaks the kingdom began,
Now it's all in the palm of his white-gloved hand.
Walt Disney is claimed to be his creator,
But in truth it was Mick who was the great innovator.
It was the mouse in the house 'neath the refrigerator,
Who had the idea for drawing cartoon theater.
Hour upon hour, young Mick would write,
He'd draw and he'd sketch all through the night.
He'd write joke after joke until the first morning's light,
Then he'd give them to Walt for his oversight.
"I'll be your agent," Walt Disney would say,
"Trust me, my Mick" and I'll pave the way,
But then in the attic poor Mick he would stay,
Not realizing that Walt would this mouse betray.
Millions and millions Walt Disney make,
He even made off with the mouse's take.
So I write now these words for that little guy's sake,
As I sit drinking whiskey at old Mickey's wake.