It is New Year's bell,
Not funeral knell,
To go to the hell,
Sounding in a dell,
Shaped like shell,
With winds so snell.
In a pretty cell,
Seven dwarfs dwell.
They can cast spell,
By a weird yell,
Producing a smell,
Like a bubble to swell.
They make coats of fell
That they want to sell
It's a bad story to tell.
Well, well, well!