Miss. Marymay

​​Miss. Marymay

What a beautiful day,

With your shoes so worn,

And jacket so torn, 

But neither your mother or father, 

Could help convince what a bother,

It is to have worn shoes,

And torn jackets,

Mrs. Marymay,

What a beautiful day,

With your sticky fingers,

And the smell of your sticky candy lingers,

But niether pa or granny,

Can convince you of the cranny,

It is to have sticky fingers,

All over the house,

Miss. Marymay, 

What a beautiful day,

It is to have muddy tracks,

And muddy black slacks,

But neither your brother or sister,

Can convince you what a blister,

It is to be muddy,

With your tracks and black slacks,

Miss. Marymay,

What a beautiful day,

To sing your peppy songs,

With the same line that is long,

But neither your uncle or aunt,

Can convince you of what a want,

It is to have you stop your peppy songs,

That are oh, so long, 

Miss. Marymay,

What a beautiful day,

It is to be you,

A child that is never sad or blue,

But neither your mother or father,

Pa or granny,

Brother or sister,

Or uncle and aunt,

Can ever convince what awesomeness it takes to be you,

A child that is never sad or blue,

Even with torn jackets and shoes,

Muddy black slacks,

Sticky fingers,

Or your peppy song with one line that is very long,

Oh how great it is to be you,

A child that is never sad or blue.