At the home of James Monroe, setting on the mantle, across from their bed in their homestead
Lies a clock dating to a time, a time long since past, but once inspired a rhyme, ticking in my head

Hickory Tickory Dock Something’s in the clock Wreaking havoc in the gears Embracing all our fears
Tickory Trickery Clocked Something’s in the clock Wreaking havoc in the gears Embracing all our fears
The mouses ran down the pendulum, scuttle butting along, They make their mark on history

Mr. President working at his desk, ever mindful and aware of time, little mices, the hands are changing
Oh happy joy joy, let the alarms ring The master here of the house can sing
For even though the mice have messed up time He can set all his pieces to an atomic clock hyperfine

Oh wait no more joy, no synchronization, nineteenth century limitations
A cesium standard for temporal accuracy was not invented, the mice achieve victory

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