Lill’ brothers are the cheeriest things,
They run and romp and shout and sing.
They don’t do as they’re told,
Unless you are an adult who’s grown and old.

They wrestle, they smell,
They spit, they yell.
They are up and outside with the sun,
Collecting dirt, bugs, scrapes, and having fun.

Little Brothers jump from very high and try to fly,
I tickle them until they die.
They play cowboy, spy and war,
Tackle-you-down, run-around and so much more.

I envy them, jolly and dirty,
Destined to be family babies until they are thirty,
For there is no jollier time in life,
As when you are eight or seven or five.