I Like Your Problems, I Think They're Sleak

I see your third thumb
and you see my longer arm
I hear your problems in speak
and you smell my fragrance, weak.
I like your problems, I think they're sleak

I try weakly to be the walrus
you seem to quite like the fuss
But I can juggle
Perhaps help you in a struggle

Your a little, only slightly brittle
Calling "play it boy, swing that fiddle"
You gotta swing high, play that guy
You gotta talk slightly slowly lady sly

I wish you would come over
play a game of twister, sister
I wish you could sing neatly
maybe beat me in ping-pong sweetly