Oh! Pickle Aunty
Oh! Pickle Aunty
Oh! Pickle Aunty
Why’ve you taken our balls?
We’re growing little boys
Not girls playing with dolls
Oh! Pickle Aunty
Please return this last ball
Our fielder was a bit slow to let
The ball roll into your hall
Oh! Pickle Aunty
We’ve got to play you see
For one among us sure will
The next Cricket champ to be
Oh! Pickle Aunty
To reclaim the lost, we summon all our guts
For entering your evil lair
We toss out the poor ill fated “Nut”
Oh! Pickle Aunty
Though grunty pigs roll on your lawn
But still you look at each
Of us, as the devil’s spawn
Oh! Pickle Aunty
Spiteful with a grudge you look
And wait for the ball to roll in
Like catching fish with a hook
Oh! Pickle Aunty
Now your pickle we’ll spoil
Pickle’in our balls
Many such rumors we’ll boil
Oh! “Ball” Pickle Aunty
To you, the children will call
This name will long stick
Better return our ball
Oh! “Ball” Pickle Aunty!
I bet you miss those days
Hence this poem is your euphemism!
For all our lost hours of play!
By Hans Albert Lewis
