Bad, Bad Baby Bobby

Nevertheless, he was ravishing!

Bad, bad baby Bobby!

Bobby was mischievous, and in troubles a lot.
He was an active boy, an adventurous tot.

“Oh, Baby Bobby!” his mother would plea.
“How oft must I speak ere you listen to me?

Don’t climb on the tables! Don’t throw your blocks!
And how many times must I put on your socks?”

She’d chase him round and round the house with never a minute's rest.
“It is a virtue,” she’d say. “And I do agree, but my patience you do test.”

When to clean up his toys was his parent’s request,
He’d look at them firmly and strongly protest.

He lacked a great deal in temperance.

“You may play tomorrow,” his father said mildly.
Bobby fell to the floor and kicked his feet wildly!

Bad, bad Baby Bobby!

Bobby’s behavior was very troubling, this indeed is true.
Said his father and mother, “What, oh what! Just what shall we do?

Maybe he’s sick, simply not well.
Maybe it’s something only a doctor can tell.”

So off to the doctor's, several, in fact;
Only to find out the boy’s health was in tact.

“An intelligent child! He walks and talks early,” all the physicians agreed.
“The child is cranky - he’s tired of course. A nap is his only need.”

One day his grandmother came to see him.
With his blocks he was building the coliseum.

He was really quite precocious.

He picked up his block (as he was known to do)
And drawing it back, his block he then threw.

Bad, bad Baby Bobby!

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” his grandmother said,
As she rubbed the big lump atop of her head.

She loved her grandson, and offered him candy.
She winked at his mother, “Now this comes in handy.

That makes things better,” she said pinching his cheek:
Bobby received it so harmless, so meek.

Then Grandfather said, as he rose to his feet,
“He hits you in the head, and he gets something sweet?

In my day,” he continued, “And may I be frank,
My father would give me nothing short of a spank!”

That night Bobby’s father was very sure - something had to be done.
“Yes,” said his mother, “I do agree;
It’s for the good of our son.”

They talked at the table, well into the night - At least until half past two.
They talked and talked, and now they were tired;
But they knew just what they must do.

Things now were different, and from that day,
Bobby had to listen; Bobby had to obey.

He was surprisingly agreeable.

His mother was watching
while his towers he was building,
high on the soft, fluffy rug:
A pleasant child,
he smiled at her,
And held out his arms for a hug.

What a nice boy, Baby Bobby!

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