Some plans came down to the engineer
With lines so fine and dimensions clear
Showing gears and levers and angles and bends
And inside out widgets with chrome plated ends
For a gadget to leave any craftsmen dismayed
And it's heart was a part that just couldn't be made
For the engineer sighed as he studied those plans
And he read the demented designers demands
Then he called in his techs and he said to his crew
This guy seems to think that there's jobs we can't do
And parts we can't build so let's give him a thrill
We'll build his machine and then send him the bill
Now his tungsten we'll carve with a laser or two
We can hold it with magnets or vacuum or glue
His tapers we'll trim by computer control
Triangular bits will drill all his square holes
We'll put it together and try to stay calm
‘Till we weld it all up with a small fission bomb
Now this micro-inch finish won't cost him too much
So we'll plate it with platinum, seems a nice touch
But the tricky bits here are these spheres within
spheres
The (cline)-bottle tanks, the irrational gears
The left-handed (blivets) I'll buy off the shelf
But I'd better sneak in and make this part myself
The designer came down and his jaw it did drop
At the thing sitting there on the floor of the shop
The engineer grinned and he pointed with pride
At the parts that were whirling and glowing inside
For there's no job too tough and there's no job to
queer
For a MIT grad hyperspace engineer