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Wicked Willie Willie was a wicked boy, Snubbed his poor old mother; Willie was a dreadful boy, Quarrelled with his brother; Willie was a spiteful boy, Often pinched his sister, Once he gave her such a blow, Raised a great big blister! Willy was a sulky boy, Sadly plagued his cousins, Often broke folks' window panes, Throwing stones by dozens, Often worried little girls, Bullied smaller boys, Often broke their biggest dolls, Jumped upon their toys. If he smelled a smoking tart, Willie longed to steal it; If he saw a pulpy peach, Willie tried to peel it; Could he reach a new plum-cake, Greedy Willie picked it, If he spied a pot of jam, Dirty Willie licked it. If he saw a poor old dog, Wicked Willie whacked it; If it had a spot of white, Silly Willy blacked it, If he saw a sleeping cat, Horrid Willie kicked it; If he caught a pretty moth, Cruel Willie pricked it. If his pony would not trot, Angry Willie thrashed it; If he saw a clinging snail, Thoughtless Willie smashed it; If he found a sparrow's nest, Unkind Willie hit it. All the mischief ever done, Folks knew Willie did it. No one liked that horrid boy, Can you wonder at it? None who saw his ugly head, Ever tried to pat it. No one ever took him for a ride— Folks too gladly skipped him. No one ever gave him bats or balls, No one ever "tipped" him. No one taught him how to skate, Or to play at cricket; No one helped him if he stuck In a prickly thicket. Oh no! for the boys all said Willie loved to tease them, And that if he had the chance, Willie would not please them. And they shunned him every one, And they would not know him, And their games and picture-books They would never show him, And their tops they would not spin, If they saw him near them, And they treated him with scorn Till he learned to fear them. They all left him to himself, And he was so lonely, But of course it was his fault, Willie's own fault only. If a boy's a wicked boy, Shy of him folks fight then, If it makes him dull and sad, Why, it serves him right then! |
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This is the Naughty Boy who would go making Mud Pies, and get his nice new clothes all over mud. He said he would be Good, but he got into the mud, and was a Naughty, Bad, Bad Boy!!! |
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The Wicked, Rude, Bad, Naughty, Cross, Nasty, Bold,
Dirty-faced Boy Boys, stop your noise! Girls, stop your jumping and skipping! While I tell you about a bad boy, who often deserves a whipping. If this boy to you were named, to speak to him you'd feel ashamed, So to-day I'll only say—He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy! I won't tell you his age, nor the colour of his hair, Nor say anything about the clothes he sometimes does wear; You never see them neat and clean, and seldom without a tear, Because—He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy! If he's sent on a message, such a long time he stops, To pelt stones at Chinamen, and stare in the shops; Running behind drays, and wastes time so many ways, That when he gets home his mother says— Oh you wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy! If his mother gives him lolly, cake, piece of beef or mutton, In a corner he'll eat it by himself, he's such a nasty, greedy glutton. And he'll smug from his playmates a marble, top or button, That scarcely any one can with him have any fun, Because—He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy! He's been going to school for years, I can't tell you how long, If you ask him to spell three words, two are sure to be wrong; If you saw the dirty books and broken slate which to him belong, You'd easily guess from such a mess that— He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy! You can't believe a word he says, he tells so many lies. He's such a coward, he'll only hit a girl or boy much less than his size, But if he gets a blow himself, he howls, bawls, yelps, and cries, That anyone who sees him never tries to please him, Because—He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy! He won't play any game without being always cheating, I often wonder how he so many times escapes a beating, And he never says grace before or after eating. He's scarcely better in the least than a brute beast, Because—He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy! What school he goes to at present I won't tell, But I mean to watch him, and if he don't mind and behave well, I'll go to every school and ring a little bell, I'll make a great noise, and show all the girls and boys This wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy! |
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