The eponymous main character of which we sing likes to go up into them there winderboxes and plop his Smittiness down will-he nil-he on whatever happens to be trying to grow in there.
To add insult (to us) to the injury (to the plants), he lounges in such a way as to spread out his flanks, his haunches, his back forty to a hideously wide proportion, filling the windowbox from rim to rim with a plump blanketation of Smittiness.
Such luxuriously shameless behavior could cause alarm amongst The Misters … … except that the Smitty’s cuteness usually serves to calm The Misters.
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