All in the groves of dragon fungus
Lives the mysterious Chickamungus
The natives who inhabit there
Have never yet found out his lair
And if by chance they did no doubt
The chickamungus would be out
For he is seldom found at home
He likes to rove he likes to roam
He never sleeps but what he snores
He nerver barks but what he roars
He never creeps but what he walks
He never climbs but what he stalks
He never trots but what he hobbles
He never stands but what he wobbles
He never runs but what he skims
He never flies but what he swims
At tom-tom time he romps and roves, among the odorous dragon-groves
He lives on half-grown formicoots
And other sorts of roots and shoots
He has been seen at rest among
His multitudinivorous young
And travellers returning late
Have heard him crying for his mate
His tracks have been identified
Straying a bit from side to side
Across the desert plains of Quunce
A native girl ovserved him once
But could not say what she had seen
So unobservant had she been
Her evidence is inconclusive
And so the beast remains elusive
A naturalist who found his den
Was never after seen again
Thus we must leave the Chickamungus
At large amidst the dragon-fungus.
