The Lollipop Bush

In a garden, afar in a tropical clime, Where the air is astir with the lily-bell’s chime, And honey-sweet breezes from Araby blow, There stands the green bush where the lollipops grow. Oh, sugary lollipops, Nectarous lollipops, Best of all sweeties that ever did grow.

There, torrents of soda that sparkle and gleam, Dash foaming o’er boulders of rosy ice-cream; But neither pink ices, nor soda’s cold flow Compare with that bush where the lollipops grow. Oh, sugary lollipops, Nectarous lollipops, Best of all sweeties that ever did grow.

On lakes of clear syrup, the waffle-boats ply, Past islands of cookies and mountains of pie, But the wise, while the voyagers sail to and fro, Remain by the bush where the lollipops grow. Oh, sugary lollipops, Nectarous lollipops, Best of all sweeties that ever did grow.

The walls of this garden are builded of buns, All powdered with sugar and stuck full of plums, But sweeter than these, with its fruit hanging low, Is that wonderful bush where the lollipops grow, Oh, sugary lollipops, Nectarous lollipops, Best of all sweeties that ever did grow.