There is a very cute little boy named Larry
Sometimes he is good, sometimes raises old
Harry.
Then his grandmother begins to fume and to
fret
And finally paddles that on which he is
supposed to sit.
Then he storms, raves, threatens, and
shakes his fist
So she has to punish him by a slap on the
wrist.
But when he is shown the dark closet door
He says he will be good, not do it any
more.
He plays with Pearl, Charkie, Dobbin and
Nigger Joe.
But carries old Sumantha Ann where'r he
will go.
He gets his wagon, firetruck and together
his train he'll splice.
While Gumbo, Neddy and Bobcat sit up and
look nice.
With his bag of blocks he builds many, many
things
Castles, cottages, hoosegows and railroads
in log strings.
Where his kin folks lie, he'll tell you the
name of the place
And rattle off big words without even
making a face.
The roomers all love him, think things he
does are funny.
When they pay me, he tells the names of the
faces on money.
He does the duck waddle, turns flip flops
and does drop four
He reads Mother Goose, does many smart
things more.
When outdoors, he plays with Sally who
lives next door,
Goes with me when I go for groceries at the
store.
Has his wagon, mess of junk, Charley horse
or engine to ride
Sometimes plays with Stanley who lives on
the other side.
All in all, his grandmother thinks he's a
smart lad.
Note: This is about her great-grandson Larry Ormsby. This was written sometime in the late 1940's when Larry was between 3-7 years old. Grandma Hill ran a boarding house with "roomers". Most of the names in this poem refer to his toys, but Sally and Stanley were neighborhood kids.
These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.
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