Griselda - Natalie Merchant

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