There's a Polar Bear In our Frigidaire-- He likes it 'cause it's cold in there!
With his seat in the meat And his face in the fish And his big hairy paws In the buttery dish.
He's nibbling the noodles, He's munching the rice, He's slurping the soda, He's licking the ice.
And he lets out a roar If you open the door. And it gives me a scare To know he's in there.
That Polary Bear In our Fridgitydaire.
Theology is never any help; it is searching in a dark cellar at midnight for a black cat that isn't there. Theologians can persuade themselves of anything.
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