Clyde the corndog gulped beans on the fourth of July,
then had to take the bus. He had to ‘go’ … oh, my!
You could see gals squalling, crocodile tears falling.
Windows, open, relief! Clyde let it rip! Good grief!
Rootin’, tootin’ July! Catch a whiff and you’ll cry!

Ev’ryone gave Clyde room (that corndog made them swoon),
if you said words of ‘gloom’, Clyde turned around … would moon.
“Hey, folks, it is July! I know you’re ‘holding’. Why?
That why’s you’re bloated, fat! Why hold onto that cat?”
Rootin’, tootin’ July! Swish that whiff with a broom!

Corndogs are no ‘nonsense’; they are real … no pretense.
They quake and quiver, tense, around things—condiments!
They love waving their flags (but are too stiff … no wags).
They’re truly countrified but hate seeing ‘things’ fried.
Rootin’, tootin’ July! Let the fireworks commence!

One gal grabbed Clyde, and squeezed. I sort of wish he’d sneezed.
His gasket blew … phew! Firecrackers went off too.
Next time I pray he’ll squeeze; not ‘spiff’ to such degree.
All the flags are fanning to prevent folks fainting.
Rootin’, tootin’ July! There’s marshmallow clouds … gee!

Uncle Sam is off Spam (but it’s Clyde whose the ham).
We should send him o’erseas; tell him never to ‘squeeze.
Ev’rybody turns … leers; Clyde stands out, has no peers!
Celebrating’s a hoot when Clyde bursts, cleans his ‘chute’.
Rootin’, tootin’ July! Catch a breath while you can!