Roomey is a zookeeper; a global caretaker is he,
with his flockey herd of critters, the endangered managerie.
He tends glazeebos, ampheebos, orangoupangs and slangs,
while feeding facecub pups and reptilimups, doozyewes and falangs.
One day he had a scare event, urgent animal alert,
when he found his biggy globelephant flailing in the dirt.
So he called in a panel of pakkidharmologists for their expert opinions
as to how this mammouth mammalian crisis could strike down the flappy-eared minions.
The first ‘xpert said I believe we have here a globel problem of elephantal proportions,
with overextended ears, trunkated dysfunctions, and pakkidharmal distortions.
The next guy grabbed our pakkidharmal hunk’s trunk,
proclaimed this big critter’s really in a funk,
asked how this catastrophe could have struck, who’d have thunk?
I think our globelephant is sunk!
The third ‘xpert held the critter’s ears.
“Oh my!” he cried. The core data confirms our worsest fears.
This mammal’s flappy ears have been caught up in the gears
of all our das kapital industrial carbon-spewing years.
Authority number four stroked the mammoth critter’s world-class tusk.
Methinks this overprized trophy’s been the object of some rapacious hunters’ lust.
It’s time to save globelephant– We must!
To prevent it getting caught in carbon dust.
The next pakkidharmologist grabbed that globel animal’s legs.
There oughta be a law! he said. What we need are more strong regs!
If we’re gonna arrest this sixth extinction, we really gots to peg
this carbon contagion down; coal and oil and gas spews out emissionary dregs!
Now the next guy took up the matter of globelephant’s long tail.
I do believe this monster’s like a rope, said he. It keeps us tied to stinkin’ gas, oil shale.
Now the climate’s waggin’ us all around with floods and snows and what the hail.
If we don’t put a stop to this dirty carbonous gale, the whole frackin’ planet’s gonna fail!
Here we stand beneath biggy globelephant’s vast belly.
Now something’s dropping from behind, something rather smelly.
Better turn on the tube, the phone or web, to view it on the telly,
where we learn at last the sky’s been fallen, our true foundations turned to jelly.
Have a Smoke