This is the story of the Forsythe-Browns,
There are many people like them in all old England’s towns,
And they were waiting for the stork on a cold winter’s night,
But the bundle that he left them did cause them quite a fright.
For lying in the crib, where a baby, he should be,
Was a purple Egg-a-noggin-nog who gurgled out, Mummy,
Mum telephoned the doctor and she telephoned the stork,
But they both said that’s the parcel for Acacia Avenue, York.
But this is not a baby, said a frantic Mrs B,
He’s had tadpoles for his breakfast and banana-skins for tea,
And now his father’s taken him on the purple evening tide,
To catch a lonely crocodile that’s forty inches wide.
Just then the babe and father came and sat down in the lounge,
And hubby said, what ho, my dear, are there biscuits we can scrounge?
That thing is not my son, she cried, which wasn’t very nice,
But the Egg-a-nog, it ate them both, and never did think twice.
So all you mums and dads out there, pray listen to my song,
Just love what you are given and you’ll never go far wrong.