The Truth About Amfibians

So you think frogs say "ribbit"? I beg to disagre
'Cause frogs 'round here are somethin' else, they sing in harmony
Some squeak and squawk and cackle, like chickens when they scratch
Some of 'em just bark like dogs 'cause they're the crazy batch

They lay their eggs in stretchy strings or in big ole globs
(If ya tried to pick 'em up ya'd have a slippery blob)
They tangle 'em in lily pads, make a gooey mess
(When they hatch into tadpoles, that's when I like 'em best)

Now Bill don't mind them tadpoles, and frogs he can abide
But warty toads get on his nerves, he takes 'em fer a ride
When he scoops up a toad, in the bucket it will plop
Off fer a trip to the crick when it's filled to the top

Toads make rackets awfuller than most any critter
Bill will tell ya fer sure, He's no warty-toad-sitter
Down to the bank he hauls 'em, they don't know why or when,
And dumps 'em in the crick till they hop back home again