A Tree (that) Grows in Brooklyn (The Juniper Tree - the Brothers Grimm)

So this hood mom had felt cheated that her girl wouldn’t get her props

because her husband’s son was older, so she shot him in the head.

After this occurrence, she began to pedal back.

By the time her girl came in, she had staged a little play.

“You take this to your brother,” proffering her a starter pistol.

Now the woman’s natural-born daughter had acquired a healthy helping

of misgiving of her mama due to meth, so she obeyed.

She started toward the boy, but was tripped and heard gun fire,

saw his hat go flying off him but did not remark the line.

Her mama quick had snatched the line that pulled the hat off brother,

told the girl she’d feed him later to her step-dad. Good riddance.

The ribs were never finer, and the daddy ate with fervor

while the girl looked on in horror as she cried away her crime.

She took the bones and placed them under the tree that grows in Brooklyn

in a doo-rag, when a white bird sprang up, much to her delight.

The bird flew round town with a jaunty little sound.

It sang at a jewelry store, and this is what it sang.

“My mama done killed me. My daddy done ate me.

My sissy buried me beneath a tree that grows in Brooklyn.”

The jewelry store owner took a liking to the tune

and demanded that the bird repeat the verse right away.

The bird said it would but it wanted compensation,

so the owner took a string of pearls and gave it that for pay.

The same situation played itself out 2 more times,

The bird got a phone of the Apple iPhone 11 Pro type.

It also got a Bugatti that it carried as it winged,

and with these several items, it returned to the hood.

The daddy heard the song and remarked how sweet it was.

He stepped into the night and got the pearls, to his delight.

The daughter heard it, too. She went outside just to snoop.

A cell phone just for her came to rest within her hand.

The hood mom was distraught. She was highly overwrought.

She stepped out anyway. The Bugatti was her fate.

It landed on her head, so of course she wound up dead.

And when Dad and sis came, they saw naught but heavy mist.

When flame and fire had cleared, there was brother, so they cheered.

’Twas good the tree that grows in Brooklyn knew just what to do.