She made such Puddings would choak a Dog;
And I shall ne'er forget 'till I dee,
What lumps of Pudding my Mother gave me.
She hung them up upon a Pin,
The Fat run out and the Maggots crept in;
If you won't believe me you may go and see,
What lumps, &c.
And every Day my Mother would cry,
Come stuff your Belly Girl until you die;
'Twou'd make you to laugh if you were to see,