It pains us greatly to relate That Goldie suffered from this fate.
You see, if someone takes enough Of any highly dangerous stuff, One will invariably find Some traces of it left behind. Her father came the second day And fetched her in a Chevrolet, And drove her to their home in Dover. And all at once she opened wide Her great big bluish eyes and sighed, And gave the anxious docs a wink, And said, 'I'll be okay, I think.' So Goldie lived and back she went At first to Granny's place in Kent. 'She's had her chips! She's dead! She's died!' 'I'm not so sure,' the child replied. Let's answer what you want to know Did Goldie live or did she go? The doctors gathered round her bed, 'There's really not much hope,' they said.
'Why can't you leave my pills alone?' With that, she grabbed the telephone And shouted, 'Listen, send us quick An ambulance! A child is sick! It's number fifty, Fontwell Road! Come fast! I think she might explode!' We're sure you do not wish to hear About the hospital and where They did a lot of horrid things With stomach–pumps and rubber rings. For wouldn't any child feel crummy, With loud explosions in her tummy? Granny, at half past two, came in, Weaving a little from the gin, But even so she quickly saw The empty bottle on the floor. Young Goldie clutched herself and cried, 'There's something wrong with my inside!' This was, we very greatly fear, The understatement of the year. (A man next door was heard to say, 'A thunderstorm is on the way.') But on and on the rumbling goes. Explosions, whistles, awful bangs Were followed by the loudest clangs. A funny gurgling sound was heard, And then, oh dear, from deep within, The ghastly rumbling sounds begin! They rumbilate and roar and boom! They bounce and echo round the room! The floorboards shake and from the wall Some bits of paint and plaster fall. So can you wonder little Goldie Began to feel a wee bit moldy? Inside her tummy, something stirred. In point of fact she did not dare To use them more than twice a year. But far more fierce and meaner still, Was Granny's little chocolate pill. The pink and red and blue and green Were all extremely strong and mean. This meant that every night she'd give Herself a powerful laxative, And all the medicines that she'd bought Were naturally of this sort. You see, how could young Goldie know, For nobody had told her so, That Grandmama, her old relation Suffered from frightful constipation. Dear, oh dear, She starts to feel a trifle queer. 'Hooray! What fun! They're chocolate–coated, every one!' She gobbles five, she gobbles ten, She stops her gobbling only when The last pill's gone. 'All right,' she says, 'let's try the brown,' She takes one pill and gulps it down. And Goldie, after making sure That she is really by herself, Goes quickly to the medicine shelf, And there, her little greedy eyes See pills of every shape and size, Such fascinating colours too –– Some green, some pink, some brown, some blue. At lunchtime on the second day Of dearest little Goldie's stay, Granny announced, 'I'm going down To do some shopping in the town.' (D'you know why Granny didn't tell The child to come along as well? She's going to the nearest inn To buy herself a double gin.) So out she creeps. Did any of you ever meet A child called Goldie Pinklesweet? Who on her seventh birthday went To stay with Granny down in Kent.
'Attention please! Attention please! Don't dare to talk! Don't dare to sneeze! Don't doze or daydream! Stay awake! Your health, your very life's at stake! Ho–ho, you say, they can't mean me.
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