He’s onto his parents’s game/
And he thinks it’s a crying shame/
He’s trembling with fear/
For a mohel is near/
And he knows he’ll be sorry he came.///
He’s sure that he’s gonna be sore/
For as much as a week- maybe more/
And that small missing part -/
Will it (like his Art)/
Adorn the refrigerator door ?///
For where should a foreskin be hung ?/
Forgotten, abandoned, unsung/
He will go through life “sans” it/
But perhaps they will bronze it../
A memento of when he was young…
He’s onto his parents’s game/
And he thinks it’s a crying shame/
He’s trembling with fear/
For a mohel is near/
And he knows he’ll be sorry he came.///
He’s sure that he’s gonna be sore/
For as much as a week- maybe more/
And that small missing part -/
Will it (like his Art)/
Adorn the refrigerator door ?///
For where should a foreskin be hung ?/
Forgotten, abandoned, unsung/
He will go through life “sans” it/
But perhaps they will bronze it../
A memento of when he was young…