I can’t take you to the park sweetie,
the Giants are about to start playing,
and they get awfully greedy.
You remember how I told you
that there’s a Sunday treaty?
The Giants agree to guard New York
And in return, every Sunday, a park becomes theirs.
No one dares go near them while they play their games
Stumbling and fumbling with their ball.
They scatter once it starts getting dark,
stomping sadly away from the park.
Their billowing bodies towering over old apartments,
office buildings, and museums.
On Sundays the people of New York are fearing
those grimy faces smugly sneering,
as the Giants trudge back to their places.
You don’t want to be caught playing at the park today
by those towering, devouring creatures.
Their overgrown nails and horrendous features
They wouldn’t delay
in tearing you apart, which is only just the start
should we go to the park today.