Scrubby was a dirty kid. He never did use soap.
He had a kind of sour smell that made it hard to cope.
His classmates did try to ignore but to no avail.
After just a few moments they’d become quite pale.
Green almost or maybe gray
I’m not so sure. It’s hard to say
I hope I never look that way!
Then one day in the bathroom Henry washed his mitts.
He lathered, scrubbed and rinsed them just as sure as a cobra spits.
Scrubby saw this oh sure he did and wanted to know what for.
“Why do you do that to your hands? I’ve not seen that before.”
“To get off all the dirt of course,” was Henry’s reply.
“It’s sure not hard. Here’s the soap, why not give it a try?”
Scrubby scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed but didn’t stop at his hand.
He scrubbed his arms; he scrubbed his back just as Henry planned.
He scrubbed his back; he scrubbed his front for at least an hour or two.
When he was done the soap was gone no soap for me no soap for you.
That’s okay for us because I think we all agree
now that Scrubby’s scrubbed himself he smells quite nifty!