From as far back as I can remember
I hated brussel sprouts
And Grandad Understood
What all the fuss was about
When he was a tiny tot too,
Little in his chair
Round the dinner table,
He was in dispair
Horrible green little beasts
Loitering on his plate
His father would not let him down,
Till every last one he ate
But in a much softer loving way
Without a shout or threat
He cunningly persuaded me
To love what I did hate
A surely simple promise
If I ate my sprouts at dinner
I’d get curly hair
You know – he was on to a winner
Now I’m twenty five years old
With locks of curly hair
Just look in my freezer,
There’s sprouts everywhere
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