Look there up above the hill, over the mountain
With lights from its holy lips and blood from the stallion
We talk of ancient scripts, its soul from the master
Sent to do no harm, far from - from disaster

I raised my hand up high, Boognish was looking onward
Said thy words shall now be done even move forward
Gazing at his spongy eye, I gasp in all it's glory
It's tongue was made by putting forth
the end of the story

Copyright: Downtown Music Publishing
Writer(s): AARON FREEMAN, MICHAEL MELCHIONDO