Attend the tale of Sweety Toddler
His skin was pale and his diaper odder
He bites the ankles of teenage girls
And pulled the hair in pigtales and curls
Coddled by mom the master coddler
Is Sweety Toddler, The Demon Baby of Fleet Street

He kept his room quite upside-down
His fancy clothing is worn and brown
And if he didn’t get what he craved
A box full of mad squirrels are better behaved than Sweety,
Than Sweety Toddler, the Demon Baby of Fleet Street

Swing your paci wide, Sweety
And don’t eat your spit!
Freely flows the tears of those who babysit.

His room is full, his toy box bare
A stack of books and some teddy bears
A frog that croaks and a pile of slop
A dog, some blocks, stale food, and spilt pop
In speech he is quite the twaddler
That’s Sweety Toddler, the Demon Baby of Fleet Street.

Inconsolable Sweety was,
Spit and slobber and slime he was.
Behind his back, under his shirt
Sweety hid mountains of dried poopy dirt
Sweety pouted and Sweety cried
Like a poopin’ machine he cried
Sweety has toothed, Sweety is trouble
Sweety would play with his spit bubbles
Sweety! Sweety! Sweety! Sweety! Sweety!

Attend the tale of Sweety Toddler
He’s was served a dark chocolate log
What happened then, I cannot say
It just reminds me of Child’s Play. That’s Sweety.
That’s Sweety Toddler, The demon baby of Fleet Street.