For steamming in her kettle is a porrage made of meddle
With tender loving care she cooks a toxic fare
And at her slightest wish she laddles up the dish
And sticks it in the maw of her loving son-in-law
Its never to his taste as he spits it out in haste
The daughter tries to clean the floor as she serves him up some more
The dribble leaves a stain, He cant wipe away the shame
When he had enough to choke He shudders off the yoke
Leaves the daughter in despair for there can be no repair
For this loving pair Iwonder was it fair?
So good intentions gone arye have ...