I am but a broken-hearted maid,
My tale I'll tell to you,
As I sit alone in this woodland glade,
Yearnin' for a pudden or two.
The biggist ever made,
The greatest song my grandma sang,
Was to her fam'ly of twenty-three,
Ho dish up the pudden, Save some for me!
'Twas made from fruit an' arrowroot,
Hard pears an' apples too,
Some honey that the bees chucked out,
That set as hard as glue,
Some comfrey leaf an' bulrush sheaf,
An' damsons as hard as ever,
She stirred the lot in a big old pot
While we sang "Fail me never".
When all of a sudden Grandma's pudden,
Burst right out of the pot,
Round as a boulder, not much older,
Fifty times as hot!
It shot down the road, laid out a toad,
An' knoked two hehgehogs flat,
Splashed in the lake an' slew a snake,
An' the frogs cried "Wot was that?"
Oh deary me, calamity, oh woe an' lack a day,
without a pudden to my name
I'll sit and pine away.