Under the bridge, in my old home town

There is a toad that I named Clown.

On his head lies a bright red wig which had fallen out of a circus rig.

Clown has a friend--Mrs. Potts 

A fat old pony who clips and clops

She pulls a buggy every day for a jolly old man, Mr. Grey.

Over the bridge travels she

In time to hear a “Wee, wee, wee”

“What is it toad? Please tell me dear,” says the fat old pony leaning down quite near.

The toad says, “I have a strange hat that came with a pitter-pat

That is called a wig from a circus rig.

I wish you would, Mrs. Potts dear, not lean down quite so near. I am in a terrible tizzy, as you can see I’m very dizzy.

Mrs. Potts is very confused, but calls down gently

“Those tears you need not have used. 

For I am faithful to my friends! Even ones who start new trends”.

A loud “neigh” from Mrs. Potts, and the sad toad’s crying comes to a stop.

With a slap of the reigns and a pitter-pat

The fat old pony continues down the track.

And then the toad that I named Clown,

Waves goodbye and shouts, poor guy;

“I’ll see you later, perhaps in town. But never forget your old friend Clown!”

Then the toad who started a trend

Went back under the bridge,

Never to be seen again.