Grab her bag

Ok, this is not a fairy tale

Of witches and wicked mothers

Of times when no humans were to be seen

In castles

Cursed am I forever asleep when I do not obey

This woman

Grab her frying pan

The roots she cooks of needs and wants

She’ll feed you the shoe

Where her children grew

Too old to know any better

Or so she says

This woman

And her claws

Oh my noodles her temper boils in her

Pots of complaints

You’ ll never be good enough

For this john john the pipers son

Or win over the love

Of this woman