You, oh you, with fingernails that are short, that do not cut, or nick, or scratch or contort
 
You may pick my nose.
 
You, oh you, who stands out in the sun, who has skin that is tan, that is burnt, that is fun
 
You may pick my nose.
 
When the ransom is to be paid, the bleeding is to be great, when the diet is filled with chips, when a riot is in the midst
 
You may pick my nose.
 
If comes the day when I am blue, or I am green, or I am new.  If comes a day when I am true, or I have just another clue.
 
You may pick my nose.
 
Please, please!  Watch me sneeze.  Watch me send out great rays of mucous.  Please, heave, heave and heave.
 
You may pick my nose.
 
In the dark, and in the night, and in the months of less sunlight, and in the hour, of every day, and every minute in every way.

You may pick my nose.

Bravo!
 
<pick, pick>

2.0mm Gator's work best.

Sure, it sounds harmless and innocent now. What could possibly go wrong? It's just some friendly pickin'. That's when it happens. Inevitably, in the midst of all the pickin', someone starts grinnin'. 
 
That's how banjos are made.

You can pick your friends and you can pick your nose, but you're not supposed to pick your friend's nose!
 
(By yourself however it's pick it, lick it, roll it and flick it!)

TMI, Craig.  TMI.