Jack in a box.
          Taps on the rocks.
Produces the taffy and starts in to lick quick.
          Old Mother Goose,
          Smiling lets loose,
Her children all daffy the day of their picnic.

Little Red Riding Hood fell in the gutter.
Grandmother picked her out thumping her.
Little Red Riding Hood made a great splutter.
Grandmother kept right on bumping her.

The man in the moon felt sad at this.
To see all these things go mad amiss.
He hit the old lady with one of his beams.
That sent her a-scooting to Bun Land of dreams.

The wolf sat yawning near the gate.
He pricked up his ears, winking sniffy.
He bristled at Grandma, snarled with hate.
Then gobbled her up in a jiffy.

          Old King Cole.
          Merry old soul,
          The monarch of Bun Land,
          Promoter of Fun Land,
          Is taking a nap,
          And don't give a rap.

          The Fiddlers three,
          Were out on a spree,
And never came home till late.
          And when they did come,
          All three on the bum,
Were in a very bad state.

Fiddler number one dishevelled.
Fiddler number two bedevilled.
Fiddler number three, Oh woe!
Lost his fiddle, smashed his bow.

          Barbara Smith,
          Scratched herself with,
          The broken bow.
          The Fiddlers three,
          Yelled out, "Oh gee."
          "Go slow, go slow."

          Little Maude's spider,
          Not now beside her
          On mischief bent,
          Entered the tent.

          Oh ho!
          Woe woe!
The Queen of hearts is stung.
When presto; bing, bang, bung!

The Queen began to howl and kick.
The King aroused, now grabbed his stick.
And said, you minx! You awkward cow.
Please close your face and stop that row.
Or else I'll slit your lip, you shrew,
And slip a collar button through.
Then clinch it well inside and out.
I'll teach you how to quench that shout.
          I'll box your ear.
          My pretty dear.

          The Queen to appease the old King.
          Now tried very sweetly to sing,
          "The beggars are coming to town,
          Hard pressed by the old man in brown."
When who should arrive but the piggy from Bonner:
Quite minus his wig and without any honour.

The pig caught the poor ugly duckling;
(How could he expect it would luck bring,)
Danced her around through the hall:
Ate her up feathers and all.
          Liking it better than roast.
          Devil fermented on toast.

Such dancing, such wriggles,
All crazy, all giggles!
          The Fun Land,
          Of Bun Land,
Is all full of wiggles!

When listen, hear!
That sound so queer!

The Heavens flash, the thunder howls.
Just like ten thousand billion owls.
That rumbling is not a fake.
The tumbling rocks proclaim the quake.

Before you could say pitapat,
The King and Queen are both smashed flat.
          Flatter than a kite.
          Evil, fateful night.

Pluto brought along his taper.
That is quite the proper caper.
Earth quakes always light up fires.
Burning lakes engulf the liars.

          It happened thus.
          Oh what a muss.

Poor puss in boots,
Away it scoots,
Then falls upon its back.
And finds itself,
Poor little elf,
Not far from Jill and Jack.

The wind got sick of blowing east.
The Salamander had a feast.
Half-starved Hyenas were a pest.
The wind now turned and blew south west.
Which sent the smoke another way,
And quenched the flames on Hopscotch Bay.

The Topsy Turvys try to mop
The tigers on the fence.
The taxidermist saves his shop.
But at a great expense.

The list of roast,
Includes almost,
The contents of the ark.
The little frog.
And Pollywog.
Are served on hemlock bark.

Little boy blue.
Is in a stew,
With grated mice on top.
These-dainties tough,
Are quite enough,
To make an ostrich flop.

The earth still quakes.
The kitten bakes.
Men are scorched like wisp.
Oh dreadful cries,
The red flames rise,
Roasting them to crisp.

Baked Alaska never harms:
It always yanks my vote.
Muskrat liver ever charms,
The palate of a goat.

Sometimes I think I'll change my trade,
And deal in flounders fins,
Or hunt throughout some everglade,
For tabby polecat skins,
Or else perhaps I'll change my mug,
And serve a sentence in the jug.
Never be still, work with a will.
Chewing the rags in a paper mill.

Excuse me for a minute and a half.
Excuse me while I go feed the calf.
I've thought long on the subject Mother dear.
And have decided I feel very queer.

          Good bye:
          Don't cry!

I've said quite enough.
Cut it out, the hot stuff.

I might go on and demonstrate,
Forever at a fearful rate.
And yet I won't, I'll make it short,
Just like the day I carved my wart.

The donkey brays.
The champagne pops.
My will obeys.
My quill pen drops.

So ends my taffy.
Don't think me daffy.

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