WHEN I was a lad
To my mother's malaise
I ate nothing but checkers
For seven straight days

As you can imagine
Although they were yummy
Twenty-four checkers
Are bad for your tummy

For two days and nights
Like a good little trooper
I sat on the potty
As they plopped out my pooper

Like a good little boy
When the passing was done
I plucked them all out
And cleaned every one

I spiffed them all up
And to mother's chagrin
When they were tidy
I ate them again.