Oh momma,

There are some children roaming, 

Having been breastfed far too long, 

Masquerading as happy young adults, 

Rotten old as milk spoiling in a cushion, 

Curdling further up your nose to stink,

And making you feel sick in your gut, 

Always needing a mother to torture,

So they can go suck their dirty thumb.

They never learned to talk it out openly, 

To reveal their honest love for others, 

So now they only prank infantile stank, 

To try conceal their own rancid smells.