Sahra Cynthia Sylvia Stout Would Not Take The Garb

Oh Sahra Cynthia Sylvia Stout would not take the garbage outShe'd wash the dishes and scrub the pans cook the yams and spice the hamsAnd though her parents would scream and shoutShe simply would not take the garbage outAnd so it piled up to the ceilings coffee grounds potato peelingsBrown bananas and rotten peas chunks of sour cottage cheeseIt filled the can it covered the floor it cracked the windows and blocked the doorWith bacon rinds and chicken bones drippy ends of icecream Prone pits peach pits orange peel gloppy glumps of cold oat mealPizza crust and withered greens soggy beans and tangerinesCrust of black burned buttered toast gristly bits of beefy roastThe garbage rolled on down the hall it raised the roof it broke the wallsI mean greesy napkins cookie crumbs blobs of gooey bubble gumCellophane from old baloney rubber blubbry macaroniPeanut butter caced and dry curdled off milk and crusts of pieRidy melons dried up mustard eggs shells mixed with lemon custardCold french fries and rancid meat yellow lumps of cream of wheatUuh at last the garbage reached so high that finally it touched the skyAnd none of her friends would come to play and all the neighbors moved awayAnd finally Sahra Cynthia Sylvia Stout said okay I'll take the garbage outBut then of course it was too late the garbage reached across the stateFrom New York to the Golden Gate and there in the garbage she did hatePoor Sahra met an awful fate then I cannot right now relateBecause the hour is much too lateBut children remember Sylvia Stout and always take the garbage out