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[Written to be sung, thus…
Verses: roughly to the tune of ‘Ghost riders in the sky’
     Chorus: (again, roughly) to the tune of ‘La Cacaracha’]

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While travelling through Africa to photograph big game
I came across a tribe; Whedda-phokkarrwee is its name
They live where grass grows very long, unlike those people there
They’re very short and call their names while leaping in the air

     Whedda-phokkarrwee. Whedda-phokkarrwee
     We stand just two feet on the ground
     Whedda-phokkarrwee. Whedda-phokkarrwee
     We jump so we can look around

That pygmy race of knee high fame they jump to skip the scare
Like when their leader didn’t jump and caught a lion’s glare
He leapt up high into the sky and told it go to hell
So now they jump to find their way and this is what they yell

     Whedda-phokkarrwee. Whedda-phokkarrwee
     We stand just two feet on the ground
     Whedda-phokkarrwee. Whedda-phokkarrwee
     We jump so we can look around

So do you hear the bongo sounding positively wrong-o
That’s because there’s tiny people bouncing through the Congo
But they can’t ‘kangaroo’ like loons and play their bongo tunes
But pretty soon you’ll hear the wailing of those bouncy goons

     Whedda-phokkarrwee. Whedda-phokkarrwee
     We stand just two feet on the ground
     Whedda-phokkarrwee. Whedda-phokkarrwee
     We jump so we can look around

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