The girl they call Kate-la-Plate,
Jumped right on to a roller skate.
She rolled herself down the hillside,
Shouting and screeching: ‘watch out, mate!’
But keeping her balance all the way,
Until her wheels got stuck in a grate.
The girl they call Kate-la-Jaunty,
Owned bongo drums aplenty.
Though nobody ever counted,
Some say she had more than twenty,
Which she played with calypso rhythm,
Singing songs by Harry Belafonte.
The girl they call Kate-la-Toward,
Holidayed in a Norwegian fjord.
She slept in a fishing trawler,
Which to a sturdy tree she had moored.
When the heron stopped by to say hello,
She replied ‘please do come aboard’.
The girl they call Kate-la-Dime,
Wished she lived in New York all the time.
She didn’t know what job she’d do there,
Maybe a dancer, an actress or mime?
But when asked what cocktail she wanted,
She was sure: margaritas with lime…
The girl they call Kate-la-Souffle,
Found herself hosting a super soiree.
There was lots of booze on the sideboard,
And the food was a finger buffet.
But best of all, when guests arrived,
They all wished Kate a happy birthday!
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