My age is three hundred and seventy-two,
And I think, with the deepest regret,
How I used to pick up and voraciously chew
The dear little boys whom I met.
I've eaten them raw, in their holiday suits;
I've eaten them curried with rice;
I've eaten them baked, in their jackets and boots,
And found them exceedingly nice.
But now that my jaws are too weak for such fare,
I think it exceedingly rude
To do such a thing, when I'm quite well aware
Little boys do not like to be chewed.
(Little boys do not like to be chewed.)
And so I contentedly live upon eels,
And try to do nothing amiss,
And I pass all the time I can spare from my meals
In innocent slumber"”like this.
(More eels my lady?
Perhaps some bubble and squeak,
or a little toad in the hole?
A Lancashire hot pot, perhaps?
That would be nice.)
And so I contentedly live upon eels,
and try to do nothing amiss,
Apass all the time I can spare from my meals
in innocent slumber like this.
(Innocent slumber like this.)