Err, yes, that must have been what I was thinking of.
Here's a wee poem by Matt McGinn;
He kept bees in the old town of Effen,
An Effen beekeeper was he,
And one day this Effen beekeeper,
Was stung by a big Effen bee.
Now this Effen beekeeper's wee Effen wife,
For the big Effen polis she ran
For there's nobody can sort out a big Effen bee,
Like a big Effen polisman can.
This big Effen polisman took to his heels,
And he ran down the main Effen street,
In his hand was a big Effen baton,
He had big Effen boots on his feet.
The polis got hold of this big Effen bee,
And he twisted the Effen bees wings,
But the big Effen bee got his own back,
For the big Effen bee had two stings.
Now they're both in the Effen museum,
Where the Effen folk often come see,
The remains of the big Effen polis,
Stung to death by the big Effen bee.