A nasty old woman once lived in Accrington Town
With a face that was blocked with rage like a stopped clock,
And she spoke harsh words in a sort of a strangled voice,
Like a person who for some reason has swallowed a sock.
But mostly she said nothing at all. It was no good
Wishing that woman good morning or calling, ‘Goodnight’,
But there was a boy in Accrington Town called Stanley
Who thought to himself he just might put things right.
He was kicking a football about on a waste-ground patch
By ragwort and chickweed against a garage wall,
And he spied a Coke can and widened the V-hole out
With a stone, and cut himself not too badly at all.
Then he stuffed the blazing ragwort and frosty chickweed
And mauvely smouldering willowherb into the can
And ran with it round to the nasty old woman of Accrington,
Who sat as lonely as an empty removal van.
Croaked, ‘Why have you brought me this?’ ‘It’s a present,’ said Stanley.
‘A present? Not ever has anyone brought me one.’
‘Well, I have,’ said Stanley. ‘And so you have!’ cried the lady,
And danced both up and down and shone like the sun.
Then she took his hands and jigged with him round the kitchen,
One foot up, then one and a half feet down,
And ever since then has been known as the jolliest woman
That ever pranced the streets of Accrington Town!
Well, an aeroplane would be good and an elephant
Is always acceptable, but they’re hard to find,
And whatever you’ve got will do wonderfully well if you mean it;
Be kind to someone who’s stuck. It makes them kind.