Home and King

Hey there. I'm new to this forum, and decided to, occasionally drop my own original poetry here. I'll probably contribute fourish times per week, since I still have a bunch of other things to do. Anyways, that's enough exposition, onto the poetry.

Home:

Mama please call Papa's phone,
the boys won't leave me alone.
They pull my hair, they steal my clothes.
But I'll be fine, when I go home.

Papa went to the boy's home.
Now Mama lives alone.
She pulls my hair, she sells my clothes.
But I'll be fine, when I go home.

Mama went for a ride,
and she fell on her dome.
They pull her hair, they stole her soul.
But I'll be fine, when I go home.

I went to Papa's gravestone.
I brought his old pistol.
I pulled my hair, I sold my soul.
But I'm alright,
now that I'm at Home.

King:

On the thirty-fifth day,
of the thirty-fifth king,
the thirty-fifth king,
said his thirty-fifth thing.

His thirty-fifth thing,
was his thirty-fifth lie,
and on the thirty-fifth day,
thirty-five men died.

Thirty-five men,
armed with thirty-five bows,
lay volley after volley,
onto thirty-five foes.

Thirty-five men,
behind thirty-five bars,
scream and shout,
at the unfairness of it all.

Thirty-five men to die for the pleasure of the crowd.
"My life ends now but my heart stays proud."
Thirty-five men die for the pleasure of the hive,
and on the thirty-sixth day,
the King,
he lied.