The spider is a weaver
The magical deciever
It lays a snare atop the air.                Come little ones.   A treat awaits.

The pied piper plays a tune
He spins a a lovely guise
He catches children never flies.          Come little ones.  A treat awaits.

The politician on the stump
Puts the spin in his ragged tale
To win the minds and snare.              Come little one. Atreat awaits.