Classic Poem

Habits are things which you do an' you shouldn't,
Things which a good little sissy boy wouldn't.
For instance, to sprawl on a bed in your clo'es,
An' yank off a shoe an' don't look where it goes,
An' take off a stocking an' give it a fling,
So that when it comes morning you can't find a thing
Which you know you took off. It should be on the chair,
But habit has kept you from putting it there.

Habits are funny. You do 'em, that's all,
And do 'em without ever thinking at all.
You say that you won't toss your hat on the floor,
Or bite down your nails till your fingers are sore,
Or sniffle your nose or sit humped in your chair
An' twist up an' play with a bunch of your hair;
An' you mean that you won't when you promise it then,
But the first thing you know you have done it again.

Habits are things that your parents detest,
Like twisting the button that's sewed on your vest,
Or scuffling your feet as you walk through the hall,
An' you don't even know that you do them at all.
You don't even know what's the matter when they
Bring you up with a jerk, with that: " Stop it, I say! "
Then they preach an' they talk an' they scold you a lot,
And it's all on account of that habit you've got.