My age is three hundred and seventy-two
And I think, with the deepest regret
How I used to pick up and voraciously chew
The dear little boys whom I met

I've eaten them raw, in their holiday suits
I've eaten them curried with rice
I've eaten them baked, in their jackets and boots
And found them exceedingly nice

But now that my jaws are too weak for such fare
I think it exceedingly rude
To do such a thing, when I'm quite well aware
Little boys do not like being chewed

And so I contentedly live upon eels
And try to do nothing amiss
And I pass all the time I can spare from my meals
In innocent slumber - like this