'ry Fever

I must go down to the 'ry again, to the home of the bone and the bun,
And all I ask is a new idear, and the chance for a bit o' fun,
And the Panic Pin, and the Film Noir Home, and the cry of a newbie's raking,
And the puzzled crease on csea's face, and the bustle of bakers baking.

I must go down to the 'ry again, for the call of the Hullaballoon
Grips me like the Sonic Varminter with Unabubba Collimator's croon;
And all I ask is a half-baked thought, or a vision not too blurry,
And a fresh croissant, or a fishless bone, and a bowl of Half Bay Curry.

I must go down to the 'ry again, to try my hand at baking,
To the siren sound where ideas bound, where trolls are left a-quaking:
And all I ask is to join with thee and keep the 'ry free of ranting,
And allowed therefore to be proud once more of Pyrotechnic Planting.