The Grouch

Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho.

To work I’d rather not go.

You don’t become the grumpy one for no reason.

Enough with the singing birds

And the happy, dopey, nerds.

I work hard, I complain hard

Then a young lady chose to just bombard

Me and my mates with her pep

There’s a hop in her step

That I would rather live without.

Yes, she cooks and yes, she cleans.

She says God Bless You if Sneezy were to sneeze.

But the poison apples and the royal men

Make me wish I was alone again.