Little Master Mischievous, that’s the name for you;
There’s no better title that describes the things you do:
Into something all the while where you shouldn’t be,
Prying into matters that are not for you to see;
Little Master Mischievous, order’s overthrown
If your mother leaves you for a minute all alone.
Little Master Mischievous, opening every door,
Spilling books and papers round about the parlor floor,
Scratching all the tables and marring all the chairs,
Climbing where you shouldn’t climb and tumbling down the stairs.
How’d you get the ink well? We can never guess.
Now the rug is ruined; so’s your little dress.
Little Master Mischievous, in the cookie jar,
Who has ever told you where the cookies are?
Now your sticky fingers smear the curtains white;
You have finger-printed everything in sight.
There’s no use in scolding; when you smile that way
You can rob of terror every word we say.
Little Master Mischievous, that’s the name for you;
There’s no better title that describes the things you do:
Prying into corners, peering into nooks,
Tugging table covers, tearing costly books.
Little Master Mischievous, have your roguish way;
Time, I know, will stop you, soon enough some day
