Is hard to figure out,
It has two huge frying pan ears,
And a fire hose for a snout.
Its body is a long coiled spring,
With a big thick rope for a tail,
A great big saucepan rests on its back,
Like the shell upon a snail.
Its legs are made of wheelie bins,
Its feet are wellington boots,
Lions roar and cats meaow,
But the Gbumble whistles and hoots.
Mankind has hunted the Gbumble,
For years for parts and spares,
Now there are but a few of them left,
Yet no one seems to care.
We all own a bit of Gbumble,
In fact it's quite a vital part,
That thing on your wall that goes tick tock,
Was once a Gbumble's heart!
When Aunty Iris comes to stay,
She brings along her mange ridden cat,
And a smell that won't go away.
Her teeth are black and filled with rot,
Her nose is large and crusty,
Her cat is covered in fleas and ticks,
And her clothes are old and musty.
She farts and burps and coughs a lot,
And often wets the bed,
She thinks her cat can talk to her,
I think she's not right in the head.
She eats bogies for her lunch,
Saves some for later in a rag,
My mum says she's quite harmless,
My dad says she's a daft old bag!
Now that Autumn has arrived,
Aunty Iris stands at our door,
We wave goodbye we're free at last,
Until Summer comes once more.
