Diddle diddle dumpling, my son John
Went to bed with his trousers on.
Piddle piddle pizza, my son Ross
Hasn’t got a job and he couldn’t give a toss.
Middle middle meatloaf, my son Billy
He’s got a piercing on each nipple and another on his willy.
Tipple tipple tartlet, my son Luke
Drinks a dozen pints a night – enough to make him puke.
Fiddle fiddle flapjack, my son Wayne
Is out on the street selling crack cocaine.
Bigger bigger burger, my son Tom
Got arrested by the fuzz with a home-made bomb.
Riddle riddle roastbeef, my son Charlie
Got done for twoccing off in a red Ferrari.
Little little lambchop, my son Nat
Held up the corner shop with a baseball bat.
Pickle pickled onions, my son Dean
Got his girlfriend up the duff and she’s just thirteen.
Sizzle sizzle sausages, my son Lee
Stabbed a bouncer at a club but it’s nowt to do with me.
Macca Macca Mackerel, my son Josh
Says he hasn’t robbed a bank - but then where’s he get that dosh?
Ripple ripple raspberry, my son Rory
Is marrying his “partner” - but that’s another story.
Chilly chilly cheesecake, my son Kyle
Doesn’t come here any more, he’s a bloody paedophile!
Looking back on things - where did I go wrong?
How come they didn’t all turn out like my son John?
Perhaps I should have stuck to cooking dumplings?