I am an evil parent,
I know that this is true,
it’s a crime against humanity,
the things I make you do.
It’s really mental cruelty,
when I start to shout and ball,
of jam that’s splattered up the stairs,
the cornflakes in the hall.
The smelly socks that span the landing,
really aren’t at all outstanding,
It wasn’t you that broke the door,
nor dropped the clothes that sprawl your floor.
I bought a cake for Sunday lunch,
you ate it all and called it brunch.
I made a pud all yummy goo,
you took one look and scoffed that too.
Some things I do you find obscene,
like fill a plate with things of green.
As if such things would pass your lips,
so I relent and you have chips.
It’s Amnesty for brussel sprouts,
a swede would give you temper bouts.
A hormone rush you’d scream and rage,
I daren’t tell you to ‘act your age’.
‘Your music’s loud’ I say so bold,
a grumpy fart and oh so old.
But all these things they are forgiven,
when Speech Day prizes they are given.