I cannot stand a mash of potatoes
Or invitations to kiddy parties
Kids are trite, as are their orations
So said this wife, an English writer
Helen Kirwan-Taylor
When they're young, the next generation
Are not so fun, more of a yawn
At best they are a dozing chore
She said: Kids are always just a bore

Cos kids are always really boring
They take too much time I want for myself
And kids are cute just when they're snoring
When they're up they fight!
For what? Odds and ends!
And I won't that way crack my back
Give up slack
To a stroller attend

When I read I saw the causation
For a havocked life I've no desperation
People say: If you don't marry
You don't get no heirs and lonely is scary
When you're ninety-something
But sleeping in has made me straightforward
To snooze at will's its own award
And kids aren't worth a steady score
I can never tie myself to a broad

Cos kids are always really boring
They claim too much time I need for myself
And kids are cute just when they're snoring
When they're up they fight!
For what? Odds and ends!
And with porridge left as track
They're a pack
To a pen should be sent
And when I unpack my sack
I keep track
That it's always in rubber misspent

And I'll save a fortune on braces
Repairing rooms from juvenile traces
All the germs I'd get from kissing
I'll avoid, and carpet pissing
And those teeny parties
Never again will I read Brothers Grimm
Young screech an' hurl will always make me grim
Overwrought at home's not me
If the neighbours have just one I'll flee

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