There's a little puppet I know;
whose skin is as black as coal.
Try lavishing him with affection,
he reluctantly turns the other way.
Run away from him;
he follows you all the way home.
The second puppet;
she isn't any better.
She stomps around and pouts all day;
knowing when she won't get her way.
Twenty one she turns, the year after;
Hasn't grown any wiser.
Puppet Number Three has one foul mouth;
and a dirty mind to match.
What he whispers can be heard a mile away;
nothing pleasant can he say.
Slapping female behinds, is a favourite pass-time of his;
The thrill he gets from it, is one I will never understand.
Puppet Four seems like an angel;
generous and giving of all her resources.
Alas! There is one thing she hides;
that's her enormous pride.
She secretly thinks she was made to reach the stars;
She has far to go, incredibly far.
Puppet Five has his nose forever stuck up in the air;
And never does he play fair.
Keep going on the way you do, Mister;
your nose could grow as long as Pinocchios
inevitably reaching the Ozone;
and create a hole as problematic as the already existing one.
I could go on and on;
about flaws, remedial measures and righteous ways.
But who I am to say?
With dice, teacups and cards, I play my life away.
I could be just another one of them;
A puppet who has gone astray.
