There’s a booger on my lampshade;
a bunch sticking near my bed.
I’ve got quite a good collection
by the pillow near my head.
I don’t want my mom to find them
‘cause she fusses all the time;
about my picking and my digging
“It’s like you worked inside a mine”.
Sometimes I like to flick them;
they go clear across the room,
but I have to do it quickly cause
my mom could walk in soon.
“Don’t do that” she will holler;
first she’ll gag and then she’ll wretch.
Then she’ll rub my nose clean off
with some stupid, pink Kleenex.
I just can’t seem to help it,
there’s some in there I can tell.
I love to clean them out but,
“No tissues near…oh well.”
There’ll be boogers on my lampshade;
and some tucked beside the couch.
A few flicked on the doggies;
maybe one inside my mouth.
But what’s a kid to do,
it brings me so much joy;
I simply must continue digging
after all, I am a boy!