He's been picking at his nose
   and wiping with his sleeve
Now it's red just like a rose
   and it may even bleed
If only he'd leave it alone
   like the doctor said
But now he's scratched done to the bone
   it's hanging by a thread

He kept a picking through the night
   his blankets are all stained
He lost at least a pint of blood
   and one half of his brain
He stopped a scratching when he reached
   his fluffy soft pillow
Now he's always recognized
   where ever he may go

They don't call him Ted or Fred
He's the boy with a hole through his head!