When Old Mother Combs comes to visit
You will need a place for her to sit
She always brings her broom
So you will have to make some room
She’ll refuse to remove her cap
As your cat takes over her lap
When you ask her what she’d like to drink
She’ll answer, “A cup of hot tea, I think.”
As she waits for her cup, she’ll tell you tales
Where the hero always prevails and never fails
As she sips her tea, she’ll tell you stories
About the many travels of Shorty and his glories,
And before she goes, she will suddenly remember
That she had something she was not to disremember
And selecting from one of her many, many pockets
One of her famous baked products
She tells everyone good-bye
Grabs her broom and flies.
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