Jemima

There was a little girl, who had a little curl
—Right in the middle of her forehead,
And when she was good, she was very, very good
—But when she was bad she was horrid.

She stood on her head, on her little trundle-bed,
—With nobody by for to hinder;
She screamed and she squalled, she yelled and she bawled,
—And drummed her little heels against the winder.

Her mother heard the noise, and thought it was the boys
—Playing in the empty attic,
She rushed upstairs, and caught her unawares,
—And spanked her, most emphatic.
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