I am the anti-mam,

Unholy, dark, unsweet,

I snarl at little children

As I pass them in the street.

I hate the sound of tiny toes,

Pitter, pitter, pat.

But if you stop them running round

They only grow up fat.

The world would be a better place

If babies went away,

And came back as perfect grownups,

Rounded in every single way.

I don't trust myself with off-spring,

It's not babies that are bad,

That comes from Larkin', growin' up,

With good ole mum and dad.

RATE THIS BRANCH!