Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout

Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout

Would not take the garbage out

She'd scour the pots and scrap the pans

Candy the yams and spice the hams

And though her daddy would scream and shout

She simply would not take the garbage out

And so it piled up to the ceilings

Coffee grounds, potato peelings

Brown bananas, rotten peas

Chunks of sour cottage cheese

It filled the can it covered the floor

It cracked the window and blocked the door

With bacon rinds and chicken bones

Drippy ends of ice cream cones

Prunes pits, peach pits, orange peel

Gloppy glumps of cold oatmeal

Pizza crusts and withered greens

Soggy beans and tangerines

Crusts of black burned butter toast

Grisly bits of beefy roast

The garbage rolled on down the hall

It raised the roof, it broke the wall

Greasy napkins, cookie crumbs

Glops of gooey bubble gum

Celophane from green bologna

Rubbery blubbery macaroni

Peanut butter caked and dry

Curdled milk and crusts of pie

Moldy melons, dried up mustard

Egg shells mixed with lemon custard

Cold french fries and rancid meat

Yellow lumps of cream-of-wheat

At last the garbage reached so high

That finally it touched the sky

All the neighbors moved away

And none of her friends would come to play

And finally Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout

Said "Okay, I'll take the garbage out"

Then of course it was too late

The garbage reached across the state

From New York to the Golden Gate

And there in the garbage she did hate

Poor Sarah met an awful fate

That I cannot right now relate

Because the hour is much to late

The children remember Sarah Stout

And always take the garbage out