| Porcupine | Mole | Snail |
| ♫ Song | Mole Poem | Notes * |
“I'm old,” mulled the mole
in his moldy dim hole,
as he molded the loam
of his lonely li'l home.
“I'm old and I'm blind
and I'm always maligned
for moiling the grounds
with molehills and mounds.
“But I've still the volition
to forestall demolition
by the men who molest us
for our skins and molasses.”