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1
Half a cake, half a cake,
Half a cake onward,
All in the valley of Noms
Rolled the six hundred.
"Forward, Tribble Brigade!
Charge for the Fridge!" they said.
Into the valley of Noms
Rolled the six hundred.
2
"Forward, Tribble Brigade!"
Was there a puff-ball dismayed?
Not though they all knew
Someone had blundered.
Theirs not to make reply, (Can't anyhow! PURR!)
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to EAT THE PIE!
Into the valley of Noms
Rolled the six hundred.
3
Cheese Wheels to right of them,
Strawberry tarts to left of them,
Irate Klingons in front of them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with Bat'leths from hell,
Boldly they rolled and well,
Into the jaws of Targs,
Into the mouth of hell
Rolled the six hundred.
4
Ate the Christmas tables bare,
Burped as they turned in air!
Nomming the vittles there,
Charging a kitchen, while
All the Federation wondered.
Plunged in the cooking-smoke
Right through the tarts they broke!
Targ and Klingon
Reeled from hunger's stroke
Shattered and bewuthered.
Then they rolled back, but not...
Not JUST the six hundred!
5
Pie Crusts to right of them,
Cheese bits to left of them,
Crying Klingons behind them
'What a mess!' they muttered;
Stormed at with rocks and tear,
While any that came too near
Did listen and clearly hear
A popping that summoned Death,
A terror from the mouth of hell...
A breeding of the Tribbles there,
Now WAY more than six hundred!
6
"When can their glory fade?
"O that delicious charge they made!"
Cap'n Kirk did wonder.
Fear the charge they made!
Honour the Tribble Brigade:
Noble sixty six million, three hundred and forty five thousand... and six hundred!
Inspired by