My Virtual Reading Room

How is this,
What is this,
Why does it always feel too tight, somewhere?
Either it's in the way,
Or it worries one,
And its taste is neither salt, pepper, nor honey.
Maybe it's checkered,
Maybe it's spotted,
Can't smell it and can't nail it to the wall.
It's completely unclear
What it could even be used for.

Refrain:

Oh my raspberry bushes,
I'll get up early in the morning.
I'll stick in feathers from a peacock,
So they would hum when the wind blows.
I'll stick in feathers from a peacock,
Darn it all, altogether,
Oh my raspberry bushes,
I'll be a sophisticated guy.

Something must be done about it,
Maybe we should hide it under the bed?
Or give it out to everyone, as an award,
Or urgently improve its looks, with a hammer.

Or to take it and put inside the seat of the chair,
And roll it out to an infinite width,
Or to make it narrow,
Or to eat it,
Or to accidentally spill it in one's lap.

Refrain:

Oh my raspberry bushes, etc.

Oh, but if that doesn't work--
Things will only get worse--
And, it could hit back, you know,
It might bite you,
Shove you into a puddle,
Or decide to treat you with castor oil.

Oh--it could grab you, and hit you,
And pluck out every one of your feathers,
And life without feathers isn't good,
So...would be better not to touch it.

Refrain:

Oh my raspberry bushes, etc.