Dig it up, dig it, Digits. Four digits on my hand, And my thumb, thimble, nimble fingers and thingies and I'm singing, slinging mud at my muddy, fuddy-duddy, mucky duck-toed boots and I scoot to the root of the problem, in the roots and shoots in cahoots with the villain, chillin' at the end of the street on my feet. Six feet under, I plunder and chunder. And wonder why I'm even joining in with this wordy nerdy turdy load of linguiistic lurgy. Twaddle, waddle, it's a doddle, and toddlers coddled by grumpy greedy grannies in crannies and nooks, reading books with hooks and eyes and big fat thighs. and it's hard to stop once you start, apart from the darting, farty party-pooper, it's super-dooper. What a trooper.