TICKLES COTTAGE

OUR LANDLORD

There's a mouse down in the pantry

Behind the bags of flour

Who likes a sip of milk at noon

And cheese upon the hour 

He has made his bed in a sugar sack

His seat is an old torn gown

He taps the door with his noble paw

To keep our voices down

He takes a nap three times a day

And a jolly stroll at four

He rests at five; eats at six

At seven, perhaps, a chore

He's been here since the house was built

Three rooms, a pantry, and a mouse

We have the rooms, and we pay the rent

But it's clear, this is his house.

THROW AWAY THE KEY

There's cabbage in the pantry,

Turnips in there, too,

Horrible heads of lettuce

And stinking onion stew.

There's parsnip in the pantry

Lentils there as well

A terrible tower of cauliflower

And a wretched garlic smell.

When I have my own house,

A fun house it will be, 

I'll lock the door of the pantry

And I'll throw away the key!