Ol' Hoober Goober, a spellin' champ was he.
He could spell nearly every word that he knew to be.
He could type and write and cut and paste
But, Oh the mistakes he would make in his haste.
In his diaries, he would write and write
just to find out that they were not right.
He could caption and explain and do drop down typo's
And they made no sense, they thought he was psycho's.
He looked up the words in the big red book
But seldom on the right page did he look.
His files came back, by the truck load they came
For spell-check and grammar-fix to make them the same.
He cussed and pouted and threw a fit
But back at the 'puter he had to sit.
He worked and he worked and he worked some more
Until his wrists and hands and fingers were sore.
He got 'em a done and fixed up just right
and sent 'em all back to the office that night.
They all passed and were paid after review
and he could quit holding his breath 'till he was blue.
Ol' Goober never got spell-check to work
He certainly didn't want to be just a clerk.
He was a 'juster and was above all that
and on his face, he fell with a "splat".
Ya really gotta know how to write 'n' spell
So your stuff goes through really swell.
Ya gotta know sentences and paragraphs and such
Or, .................you just won't amount to much.