I always picked the syrup

I made pancakes with my granny,
That’s just how it went,
Every Sunday morning,
That’s how it was spent.

I always picked the syrup,
My sister chocolate spread,
Then if we were good,
We’d eat in granny’s bed.

I make pancakes with my friends,
When we need it most,
Late into the evening,
Instead of tea and toast.

I still pick the syrup,
They prefer the jam,
One even goes for savoury,
Butter, cheese and ham.

I’ll make pancakes with my children,
That’s how it will be,
They’ll never meet my granny,
But they’ll know of her through me.

I’ll cover theirs in syrup,
Before doing my own,
Whenever they smell pancakes,
They’ll know that they are home.