O’er the garden wall
Too nimble to fall
Came bounding Tiny Tim
Hither and fither
Without shake or a quiver
Full of vigour and vim
As a matter of fate
Or heavenly dictate
A terrible dark accident befell
As matter of discourse
Kicked in the head by a horse
And now he’s as loony as hell
If I may be so bold
I have heard it told
To this I do swear by my life
As quick as could be
Tim took to one knee
And made that horse his wife
Tim screams at the sun
Eats pinecones for fun
In fact any cone shaped thing he can find
He’d rather attack someone else
Than work on himself
He’s worried what he might find
Now he raves and rants
Won’t wear any pants
He has questionable racist views
If you happen to be female
He’d rather put you in jail
Than give you a right to choose
Oh dear tiny Tim
I’ll never be sick of him
Even though he’s as mad as a trout
I love him like a brother
There’ll never be another
I just hope they never let him back out
