I’ve got a special bogey
I keep him as a pet
He’s sticky, mucky, green and yucky
Sweet and small and wet

I call him Mr Bogey
He lives in a plastic pot
I found him face down on the ground
Unconscious in some snot

Though people say I’m weird
Though people say I’m odd
It’s fair to say that me and him
Are two peas in a pod

He watches bogey TV
Plays bogey music too
He wears his little bogey clothes
And tiny bogey shoes

I don’t want a cat or rat
A turtle or a tortoise
A kangaroo, a cockatoo
A wallaby or walrus
A snake, sea lion or a sloth
A haddock or a horse
Don’t you just know the way to go’s with Mr B of course?

My friends try to avoid him
Because he’s full of germs
I say “don’t be a meany to a greeny”
Take him on his own terms

Though we go to bogey parties
And have tonnes and tonnes of fun
I can’t take him on holiday
‘Cause he shrivels in the sun

I feed him on slime sandwiches
My bogey grows and grows
When he becomes a bigger bogey
I’ll return him to a nose

Then I’ll be sad and lonely
With no bogey anymore
Then perhaps I’ll find Mrs Fingernail
Lying somewhere on the floor