What shall we do with the Hrothaloo?
     It seems to eat too much.
It’s very bland to look at, and
     It’s pinkish to the touch.

What shall we do with the Hrothaloo?
     It takes up too much space.
It wears Pa’s skirts and tears his shirts
     And chews up Mama’s lace.

What shall we do with the Hrothaloo?
     It smells like clarinets.
The servants don’t; the children won’t;
     It mystifies the pets.

What shall we do with the Hrothaloo?
     We’ll paint its toenails red
And feed it ham with rhubarb jam,
     And then we’ll go to bed.