I present for you here one of the little rhymes Mom swears she got from her own mother. I can't see any reason why she'd make that up, and Grandma didn't have time to write poetry, with fourteen kids, so I'll just mark it Anonymous. (He wrote so many things, anyway.)
Who, when I was a wee wee tot,
Would take me from me warm warm cot,
And put me on the cold cold pot,
And tell me to go if me could or not?
And who, when me prayers were poorly said,
Would take me from me little bed,
And spank me til me bum were red?
And who, when the morning light would come,
And in me crib me dribbled some
Would wipe me tiny little bum?
And who would me hair so neatly part,
And hug me gently to her heart,
And sometimes squeeze me til me fart?
Who looked at me with eyebrows knit,
And nearly had a king-sized fit
When in me Sunday pants me S***?
And who when at night her bed did squeak,
And me raised me head to have a peek,
Would yell at me to go to sleep?