George Hunter

Nursery Rhymes Revisited - Poem by George Hunter

As I was walking down the street
A man from Ives I chanced to meet.
I said, You're not real, you're from a rhyme
That as a child I read one time.
You're the guy with seven wives
Each of which had seven lives.
Then it happened, as I feared
He just up and disappeared.

Then who should show but old Jack Sprat
That chap that could not eat the fat
And his fat wife that could eat no lean
Guess that's what made her out so mean.
Then they left and, with a poff
There was Red Riding Hood and a wolf.
Who was looking very canny
Having just finished eating Granny.

There was Old Mother Hubbard, eating a scone
Accompanied by her dog who had found his bone.
And Jack and Jilly came down the hilly
Say man, this is getting silly.
There's Georgie Porgie, who I'd missed
With all those broads he's claimed he's kissed.
And that old Lady that lived in a boot
Running around in her birthday suit.
Guess she's figured out what to do
As she left all the rug rats at the zoo.

And who shows up but Taffy the Thief
Still carrying around that side of beef
And Jack, not so nimble and not so quick
Having seared them bad over the candlestick.
There's Simple Simon, he's still broke
And the Pieman thinks it's all a joke.
Here's Little Jack Horner with his thumbs all grubby
Ate so many plums it made him tubby.

And a Cow with a dish and a spoon
All of them jumping over the moon
It's enough to make a sane man swoon.
The Knave of Hearts ate so many tarts
He kept us amused by lighting farts.
Humpty was there on top of his wall
I put some pillows under to break his fall.

I gave King Cole my pipe to smoke
Filled it with M.J. from my poke
He'll be surprised when he takes a toke
Hope he knows how to take a joke.
And Bobby Shaftoe and his tin buckle, back from the ocean
He couldn't stand anymore of that motion.
He doesn't want to marry you, instead
He just wants to get you into bed.

If that's the case, oh well
He can just all go to hell.
Nursery rhyme, or not
I'm all for keeping what I've got.
So finish your poem, you crazy old sot
Before it ties you in a knot.

Hey, finally here comes Little Bo Peep
I'm going to quit this rhyme and get some sleep
By counting all her fuzzy sheep.
I'm going to stop before I get unlucky
And be up to my eyeballs in hoss pucky
Maybe these fantasies will all disappear
If I'd quit drinking so much beer

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, April 7, 2012

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