The Grubbs of Grubb House
“Always been Grubbs living in Grubb House,”
said Greg Grubb, sat in Louse Lounge,
in his customary seat in the Black Hog,
his local pub. “Always a Grubb sat here.”
“Expect there’ll always be a Grubb,”
said Nathan Snort, one of his drinking pals.
“Expect there will be, Nathan.
There’ll always be a Grubb,”
said Greg, who then slimed his way home
to his wife, Gladys Grubb,
timed to have a good scrub in his bath tub.
“This rug could do with a rub,”
he said, pointing at the kitchen rug.
“It’s good enough for a Grubb,
and the rug makes a nice home for a bug,”
said Gladys. “And what’s good enough for a bug
is good enough for a Grubb,
and will always be good enough for a Grubb.”
Her words gave Greg’s heart a tug,
to know she even felt a bond with a bug,
so he gave his wife a hug.
“Now I know why I married you and made you a Grubb,”
he said, as he smiled on his children,
Gwenda Grubb and Gordon Grubb.
“When you are a Grubb your house is the hub,”
said Greg, and was glad the rug
looked like it needed a rub,
and could be a good home for a bug,
for it proved he was a Grubb,
and his house would always be the home of a Grubb.