Griselda is greedy, I'm sorry to say
She isn't contented with four meals a day
Like breakfast and dinner and supper and tea
(I've had to put tea after supper-you see
Why, don't you?)
Griselda is greedy as greedy can be

She snoops about the larder
For sundry small supplies
She breaks the little crusty bits
Off rims of apple pies
She pokes the roast-potato-dish
When sunday dinner's done
And if there are two left in it

Griselda snitches one
Cold chicken and cold cauliflower
She pulls in little chunks
And when cook calls
"What are you doing there? "
Griselda bunks

Griselda is greedy. Well, that's how she feels
She simply can't help eating in-between meals
And always forgets what it's leading to, though
The doctor has frequently told her: "you know
Why, don't you? "
When the stomach-ache starts and griselda says
"Oh! "

She slips down to the dining-room
When everyone's in bed
For cheese-rind on the supper-tray
And buttered crusts of bread
A biscuit from the biscuit-box
Lump sugar from the bowl
A gherkin from the pickle-jar

Are all griselda's toll
She tastes the salted almonds
And she tries the candied fruits
And when dad shouts
"Who is it down below? "
Griselda scoots

Griselda is greedy. Her relatives scold
And tell her how sorry she'll be when she's old
She will lose her complexion, she's sure to grow fat
She will spoil her inside-does she know what she's at?
(Why do they?)
Some people are greedy. Leave it at that