They’ll plane your planes and sand your beech
Your cherry tree they’ll make a peach
They’ll spruce your spruce till it looks fine
And make your stinkwood smell like pine
They’ll oil your palm and brush your fir
They’ll stroke your oak and make yew purr
They’ll prune your plum with shiny shears
And wipe away your willow’s tears
Were there a prize for fixing shrubs
They’d surely be contenders
Some say that they are fabulubs
I say they are tree-menders