There’s an old lady whose shoes,
Walk whichever direction they choose;
Her feet think it’s wrong,
She just tags along,
That compliant old lady in shoes.
There was a young lad with a map,
That led him to a baited mouse trap;
He couldn’t resist,
The poor boy will be missed,
He’s still stuck in that trap on his map.
There was an old lady of Sydney,
Who made the fair mayor look a ninny;
She painted his suit,
Pink, yellow and cute,
That anarchic old lady of Sydney.