Firestone Hot Springs Paper Faces on Parade

Song by Allan Sherman.

Hello Muddah, hello Faddah,
Here I am at Camp Grenada.
Camp is very entertaining
And they say we'll have some fun if it stops raining.

An oldish, off-tune, unmelodic, but quite loud voice echoed in the valley, as the unappraised singer herself was walking gaily in the direction of the springs. She was on the smaller side of the spectrum, stout and pudgy with light yellowish-cream colored fur (save for the black stripe running down her back) and a merry face. All in all this she-wolf gave an impression of once being a true beauty, but age, experience and a little too much food had left their marks.

I went hiking with Joe Spivey.
He developed poison ivy.
You remember Leonard Skinner.
He got Ptomaine poisoning last night after dinner.

Another verse and then an abrupt pause, because someone had drawn the singing wolf's attention. A small animal that was moving quickly from one place to the other, appearing here or there in the cloud of steam. Once she had got close enough to be heard, she said to the little weasel: "Don't fall in there. You will go spoof!"