My mommy says she found me underneath a pickle tree.
My daddy said a stork flew in, that’s when I came to be.
*My Brother doesn’t know, but he wished they never had me.*
My teacher said it wasn’t true when I asked her if I hatched.
My Grandma always told me I was picked from the cabbage patch.
*My Brother doesn’t care, and he’s trying to send me back.*
My friends have different stories, of why and when and where,
And all we want to know is how we got to here from there.
“Where do babies come from?”, we keep asking in despair.
“Where’d we get our fingers and where do we get our hair?”
“From a store wide sale that was selling us in pairs?”
*My Brother doesn’t know, but know that he does care.*
[tags]pickle tree, stork flew, where do babies come from[/tags]