I'm entered in a contest,
The greatest known to man,
For in it you get to throw someone,
And that someone is my gran.
I'm under starters orders,
I twirl her round and round,
The whistle blows I let her go,
But she plummets to the ground!
'False start!' the umpire calls,
So I get another try,
This time I give it some real welly,
And watch that fogie fly!
Through the air just like a bird,
My granny soars and soars,
I bask in admiration,
As the crowd stands up and roars.
They found her later in Mexico,
By then the great contest was done,
I was declared a champion hurler
The Granny Hurling I had won.
I have twice as many problems as you,
In fact, I�d say I�ve got treble,
For there on the wall outside my house,
Is the awning of the Devil!
It appeared one dark and stormy night,
When the moon was out and whole,
And ever since that fateful evening,
It has tried to take my soul.
"Come under my shade," it tells me,
"Come shelter from the sun,",
But I know if I am seduced by its words,
My soul it will have won.
Blast you awning go back to hell,
My soul you'll never take,
To sell my soul or burn in the sun?
Ha! Watch me as I bake!
We are the granny gobbers,
We roam the rooftops at night,
And grot on anyone,
That's below us in our sights.
You'll never see it coming,
You'll never know it's there,
Until it falls splat on your head,
Green granny grot in your hair!
There's old Ethel Braithwaite, 84,
Who flicks it from her tongue,
And Enid Shufflebottoms snot,
Makes her spit stretchy and long.
Elsie Clayton's Slobberchops,
Produce 20 litres a day,
She saves it up for some unsuspecting fool,
Who passes by her way.
So beware the rooftops,
Watch for grannies in the skies,
But don't stare too long,
'Cos we might get you in the eyes!
