by J. M.

Created on: April 25, 2008

THE SMELLY FOOTED WARTY QUEEN

The Queen was tall and lean and so it seems, it had been a good few years
Since she'd visited her great big smelly feet to sniff her footy souvenirs
The maids would fight all day and night, about who should tend her shoes
Scream in despair; rip out their hair til they were black and blue

One day the Queen thought, while picking her warts, now why did she suppose?

Where her maids confused and very bruised with stuff wedged up their nose?
Why did they avoid her? It really annoyed her when they hid or ran away
She put it down to stress; they needed a rest, a duty free maiden holiday

She signed a guarantee, by way of royal decree that the next day she'd be maid free
Surely it wouldn't be hard to sweep the courtyard and make a pot of tea?
So the very next day, the Queen was away, trying to think up a household chore
She plopped her unslippered feet out of the sheets and wafted them onto the floor

Now to dress oneself, she thought to herself, this should not be terribly hard
Many children did it she had to admit it, as could servants, the maids and the guard
She tried with the tights; but they would not fit right over her head or over her dress
Her shirt inside out, her head wobbled about, a pouting damsel in distress in a mess

She flew to the kitchen, pulled on the mittens, to cook breakfast for the King
Pulled out lots of shallots and various pots and began to cook up everything
The kitchen was full with eggs and frogs legs and chunks of kangaroo stew
It boiled on the oven, like a witch's cauldron, a huge doggy doo fondue

When she was done, she looked at the tonne of glug all squelching around
She started to howl with a snort and a growl, (a truly unholy sound)
The King skittled in on an escaped rolling pin, sliding in doggy doo, frog and roo
With an acrobatic feat went white as a sheet, as his nose pressed up to her shoe

He pointed his finger, the stench how it lingered! He held tight to his ponged up nose
His face subdued; his lips were blue, he was scared as he stared at her toes
The King hid his face, it was a disgrace her feet smelled like a horse's backside
"Wash them!" He boomed "with loads of perfume or put the pongy things outside."

The Queen bent down, right down to the ground and removed her unfragranced feet
Scooped them off the floor, opened up the door then hurled them into the street
She reefed out her teeth, like some dental freak, chucked them in the bottom drawer
Holes in her pockets meant the eyes from her sockets, went rolling along the floor

The Queen gave a chuckle, cracked her knuckles with a pop pop pop pop pop
Threw them into the air, without a care and juggled them with a hop
She took off her hair, slung it across a chair, stuck her eyebrows to the table
Removed a hip, ripped off her lips and jumped around unstable

The King stared at his wife, who was in some strife, wobbling, bobbing up and down
He scratched his head, with a loaf of bread and then fiddled with his royal crown
"She's like Jekyll and Hyde!" The poor King cried, his voice full of fear and dread
Then he crossed his eyes and to the Queen's surprise, he pulled off his own head

The moral to the tale which I'm about to unveil, is wash your feet til they are sweet
Keep them lightly brushed with powder and stuff and every day and night repeat
Respect those who clean or use washing machines or cook or make your bed
Do not fail to scrub when you're in the tub and never pull off your own head.

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