Ice cream cones are dangerous toys In the hands of little boys; Our own can drool a sticky trickle From taffy-apple or popsicle, And he enjoys a natural flair For getting butter in the hair. He’s almost always in the mood For flipping, at the table, food. He plays fast games, or loops-the-loop With plain and fancy brands of soup; Groceries, he hasn’t heard, Are eaten, never throwm or stirred. But as I watch him, this defeats me: With what he’s lost, he still out-eats me!
