We can't mistake the octopus;
For one, he doesn't look like us,
And plus, he has no skeleton
To put a brand new suit upon.
The octopus eats whelks and clams,
We start our day with toast and jams,
And if he grabs something to chew,
He has eight arms, not two, like you.
His home is in the seven seas,
Our home's near mountains, fields, and trees,
And when a villain's threats are grim,
He shoots a stream of ink at him.
We're called men (what two of us is),
They, if two, are octopuses,
But, if they live in Greece, don't sneeze,
You'd call a pair, octopedes!
(Some people call them octopi.
(It's Latin, but don't ask me why).
Or, call them Immanuel Kant,
If that is what you think you want.