Kit had no intention to get out of bed,
So he said to himself, “I’ll pretend I am dead.”
But alas! The dead people I’ve met didn’t breath.
So Kit’s cunning deception, I didn’t believe.
“I see that you’re breathing. It’s up time!” I said.
He groaned, “Go lick a dog’s bum. I’m staying in bed.”
“But there’s breakfast, and lessons, and then time to play.”
He said, “You Foot-fungus! Now, please go away.”
He grumped and he grumbled. He said, “What the heck?!
You Fart-sniffing, Crotch-scratching, Old Turkey Neck!”
I said, ‘Stop complaining. That’s more than enough!
I am your mum, and that’s really quite rough.
Don’t be rude to your elders. I’ll teach you to speak…”
He talked over me quickly and started to squeak,
“I don’t want to get up yet, you Snot-gobbling Goon.
Leave me to sleep now! I will get up soon.”
“You’ll regret this!” I snapped as I stormed out the door.
I needed some help. I could take it no more.
So I went to his Dad, and I said, “Did you hear?
The nerve of that Kit!” He said, “Loud and clear.
He thinks it’s okay because he’s not swearing.
He does not understand that the words have no bearing
On whether his rant will be thought impolite.
If he doesn’t say, ‘F$@* you!’ he thinks it’s all right!
Perhaps he is tired, but that’s no excuse
To direct at his Mum a tirade of abuse.”
I asked, “Why’s he tired? He was sleeping by nine.
By my calculations, he should be just fine.”
“At midnight,” he said, “Kit was not in his bed.
I caught him online. He was surfing instead.”
When I saw him I said, “Now, you go back to sleep.
He said, “Not fricking likely, you bleepity bleep.”
The words ‘fricking’ and ‘bleep’ he did not really say.
I imagine you can understand anyway.
Then he called me some names such as, ‘Scrofulous Fool
And ‘Dung-sucking, Pus-munching, Rusty Old Tool.’
I think that it’s time that we all had a word.
His insolence really is getting absurd.”
To help Kit with his moods, we conceived of a way
For him to express all that he wants to say
And all he has to do is to write it all out
The important part is that he isn’t to shout
And when he is sure he’s expressed all his ire
He will bring it to us, and we’ll set it on fire!
So farewell to Burp-turds, Bum-fungus and such
To Rancid Old Turnips, I won’t miss them much.
All unneeded adjectives, rude and unkind
We bid them farewell. Kit has left them behind.