I am a clam.
A clam I am.
I often engage in foolery.
I dress in hats
and coats and spats
and gaudy flamboyant jewelry.

The clothes I wear
with flash and flair
are part of my notoriety.
I fancy furs
and boots with spurs
and vests of a wide variety.

So bring me suits
and hats and boots
and cover me up in finery.
Then buy me gowns
and capes and crowns
befitting a dandy dinery.

Yes, give me shirts
and sequined skirts
and swaddle me all in flashiness.
I do not care
if what I wear
is truly the height of trashiness.

I need a dress
of such excess,
it couldn’t be any louder.
There’s just one thing
you mustn’t bring;
I’m really not fond of chowder.