Run With Scissors

Don't run with scissors, little Jack
They'll stab you in your furry back
And curl into the stance attack
And soon your nerve you'll find you lack

Don't eat the mud pie, little Jane
For though you're dull and very plain
You've quite the mind, you're quite insane
Don't hold it in like ball and chain

Don't cross your eyes, my little Todd
For all around you think you're odd
And though your wit is sharp and broad
We'll dine and wine and cry of fraud

Don't sit and sigh, sweet Mary Jo
Your sister's sure she hates you so
And in the end she'll strike the blow
To land you in the mental home

Don't make that face, o little Bill
Twill stay that way, come snow, come chill
And though your lies may taste like swill
They're quite the potent sleeping pill

Don't run with scissors, little Jack
Your friends may stab you in the back
And when you find true hearts they lack
By tear-soaked pillow, hit the sack