The amorous Hippopotamus whose love song we know Is now married, and father of ten He murmurs "God rot 'em!" As he watches them grow And he longs to be single again He'll gambol no more on the banks of the Nile Which Nasser is flooding next spring With hippopotamas in silken pyjamas No more will he teach them to sing: Mud, mud, glorious mud! Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood So follow me, follow Down to the hollow And there let us wallow In glorious mud!