There she goes with her hair all scraggy
Moth-eaten clothes and trousers baggy
Four rotten teeth and bum all saggy
And what’s her name?, its Mrs craggy
I hate it when she watches us
Cos she pinches and she punches us
But it’s even worse when she kisses us
cos her rubber lips never misses us
Sometimes when our Dad goes out
and no-one else can babysit
He’ll send us in to her next door
And we really do hate this bit
She’s got six cats that really smell
And every one wears a stupid bell
She makes us scrub between her toes
And pluck the hairs from out her nose
She cooks this tripe for us to eat
(and it smells just like her ugly feet!)
We’re sent to bed at half past eight
The sheets are stinking, a real bad state
And the cats everywhere, those bells, bells, bells!
We think we’ve died and gone to hell
Thank God, at last, our Dad’s come back
He takes us home to our own wee shack
But no! disaster! And loads of pain
Cos tomorrow he’s going out again!
|
Email this Poetry
|
Add to reading list





