Call her "Grandma Dynamite".
Grandma blew up by the plane, dear,
Walking home from our house Eid al-Fitr eve.
You can say there's no such thing Grandma bombers,
But as for me and grandpa we believe.
She'd been listening to too much Imam preaching,
And we begged her not to go.
But she forgot her medication, and she
Snuck out the door and had to blow.
When we found her Thanksgiving morning,
At the scene of the attack,
She had pieces of her all over,
There was nothing left to bring back.
Now we're all so proud of grandpa,
He's been taking this so well.
See him in there playing foosball,
Smoking the hookah and
Playing sheshbesh with Cousin Mel.
It's not Eid al-Fitr without Grandma,
All the family's dressed in black
And we just can't help but wonder:
Should we eat her food,
Or send it back?
Send it back!!
Now the pita is on the table
And the olives, stolen from our last job
And the black pits of the olives
That would just have matched
The color of grandma's niqab.
I've warned all my
Friends and neighbors
Better watch out as we said,
They should vever strap a bomb to
To a woman who drives a donkey
And should be at home in bed.