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I hate it when Mom blows her cool. Her eyes bug out, she starts to drool, She grabs her head, pulls out some hair, Does flip-flops up and down the stair. Then she starts that eerie squealing, As she does a cartwheel off the ceiling. It's scary when the part commences When she's completely lost her senses: She slowly slips into a trance And does that spooky tribal dance. She bounces through the kitchen door And loudly flops down to the floor. She rises up, when she is able, Shouts, then crawls onto the table. She quiets down, then begs and pouts. BUT, I still won't eat these Brussels sprouts. --Grandpa Tucker |
| Grandpa Tucker's Rhymes and Tales produced by Bob Tucker. Copyright ©1996-2002 by Grandpa Tucker's Rhymes and Tales and its licensors maintained by Not Just for Kids!. All rights reserved. 12/66090/1/31/02 |