If I get another freckle,
I think I’m gonna freak.
There’s no room for one more freckle,
Upon my freckled cheek.

There’d be freckles upon freckles,
Freckling up my freckled nose.
There’d be freckles in my eyeballs.
How the heck do freckles grow?

I don’t need another freckle
There’s not a spot to spare.
God must be a freckle fiend,
Cause he put freckles in my hair!

 (The last line use to read:)

We’re having bean sprouts?
I have a few of doubts.

Do you cook them in a pot?
Do you eat them while they’re hot?
Do you throw them in a stew?
Does it help to cure the flu?
Do you chop them in a blender?
Does it make them extra tender?
Do you cook them in a pan?
Do they come from a can?
In the oven, do they bake?
Can you make a bean sprout cake?
Were the sprouting shoots of beans,
Picked before their means?

With all these doubts

I just want to shout,

“Let the bean sprouts grow!”

Some people have lots of friends.
Some have just a few.
A friend is someone who likes you,
Just because you’re you.

Friends can have four legs,
Whiskers and soft fur.
Friends can be a he or her,
Some friends can even purr.

The sun can be your friend,
In a special kind of way.
It’s always with you everyday,
Calling you out to play.

Friendships are a flower,
Blooming as they grows.
Friends can live far or close,
Even right under your nose.

Sometimes you feel alone
With out a friend to spare.
To have a friend,
Be a friend and share.

I have a grumpy shoe.
I stepped in doggy do.
I gave my shoe a shampoo.
My shoe was covered in poo.

Its eyelets cried,
"Boo Hoo!"
Its tongue turned greenish blue,
Its laces sneezed,
"Ahhh  Choo!"
My shoe caught the flu.

Your shoe would be grumpy too
If it was covered in poo,
Had a shampoo and caught the flu.

Watch out for doggy do,
Or you could have a grumpy shoe too!

The slimy booger monster
Lives deep inside your nose,
Growing snots and boogers
Planting them in rows.

In the land of boogers
He waters, weeds and hoes.
Tending to his snot fields,
Up inside your nose.

He picks the biggest boogers
Knows just when they’re ripe,
Shoves them down your nostrils
With a monstrous swipe.

He clogs your nose with boogers
Makes you poke and dig.
Picking with your fingers
For boogers much too big.

He makes his boogers sticky
Coats them with snot glue.
Grows them extra icky
That's why they stick to you.

That slimy booger monster
Who lives inside your nose,
Knows a nose, I suppose
And how a booger grows.

You may begin to wrinkle
Your voice may start to crinkle
But that doesn’t madder
That just makes me gladder

You’ll be here for a while
You still have time to smile
You’re still the coolest Mama
And there won’t be any drama

Some people who are 40
Turn into a shorty
You’re only 37
You’re still not up in heaven

To me that’s a good thing
Lets all gather round and sing
Happy Mothers Day to you!

 

 

 

One bewitching night
When the moon was green

Six witches joined hands

On a wicked Halloween

 

Their long fingers crooked

Hair straggly and unkept

Black hats, pointy noses

Under the witching tree they crept

 

The moons shadow cast

An eerie green glow.

Their shrill cackles silenced,

By the call of a crow.

 

Caw!  Caw!  Caw!  The crow shrieked

Circling the pot as it flew

Spilling over the brim

Six witches stirred their strange brew

 

“Hocus, pocus!” They chanted.

“And slimy snail tails!

One, two, three, four

And five zombie finger nails!”

 

That black pot of spells sizzled.

It moaned and it hissed.

Soaring from the pot

Swirled a strange spooky mist.

 

The bewitching mist spread.

From the pot it did rise.

Swirling and whirling

Into the green, moonlit skies.

A spell had been cast.

A deed had been done.

Six witches danced in delight,

For their spell had begun.

 

The mist full of spells

Took off on a breeze.

It blew from the west,

Over land over seas.

 

Flashing through the night

Red, yellow and blue,

Speeding on its way

To Kalamazoo.

 

To the north and south,

Creeping along on its path.

Covering the planet

In an unstoppable wrath.

 

Alas, the mist flickered.

Its bright colors burned out.

For the spell was complete,

Beyond six witches doubt.

 

The spell worked its magic.

The mist spread its charm.

The witches weren’t evil.

They did not cause harm.

 

The mist that they made

From the strange spooky brew,

Was spell made for love,

That was long overdue.

 

For the world and its people

Awoke the next day,

To a world that was changed,

In the most bewitching way.

 

If you listen very closely

When the moon is green

You can hear the witch’s cackle,

“HAPPY HALOWEEN!”

 

 

 

 

There once was a king
Who sang three times a day,
From his throne he bellowed
Turning blue skies gray.

His fearsome voice
Soared ever so high,
Into the heavens
Scaring the sky.

Great groaning sounds grumbled.
Bright lights of white flashed.
Wild whipping winds whirled.
Dark skies rumbled and thrashed.

From that day forward
The kings voice forever heard.
As thunder and lightening,
The king’s final word.

Chirped the bird to the bee,
"Stop by my tree

At a quarter to three
And have a cup of tea."

"Oh how lovely!"

Buzzed the bee.

"At a quarter to three

I’ll bring honey for tea."
"Delightful!"

Cheeped the bird.

At a quarter to three

There was buzz at the tree.
It was the bee

With honey for tea.

"Oh gee!"

Hummed the bee,

"The tables set for three.

I only have honey for you and me.
Who else is coming for tea?"

Squawked the bird to the bee,
"You and me

And my baby makes three!"
Crunch!
Crunch!
Crunch!
Went the bee.