There was a young lady called Epi
Who thought herself not very happy
If only she knew
It would be worse when she grew
She’d count herself already peppy
There was a young lad called Joe
Who felt all the time very low
If only he’d see
He was already free
He’d be light, with an everyday glow
There was a fine babe called Ama
Who liked to make scenes just for drama
If only she could feel
Just the odd even keel
She’d be nice, so no need for: “Your Mama!”
There was a posh fella called Bob
Who fancied himself a snob
If only his crew,
In his crap, let him stew
He’d never have been such a nob
There was an old woman called Rosie
My goodness was she ever so nosy
If only she’d stay
Out of everyone’s way
She’d refrain from a hell of baloney
There was an old man called Lester
Who for years let his rage really fester
If only he’d stopped
Before his ticker just popped
He’d be here—not six feet under in Gloucester