You may be said to hit me if you're really mad, Or if you're very nervous you're like a cat on hot tin, If you have a home you'll have me over your head, But you might want to raise me to celebrate a win

Shiver me timbers! I be a contraption of war, built by landlubbers and pirates alike. I fling mighty stones, or perhaps a unlucky soul, across the waves or over castle walls. What be I, ye scurvy dog?

I have a back and have some teeth, but I have no head. I only work when I am fed. What am I?

I am born on the back of a wandering beast, But I’m taken away when the winter has ceased. I can change into jackets, or blankets, or threads, To keep you quite cozy asleep in your beds. Though I started as wool, I can now be man-made, In the softest of sweaters that never will fade.

I wear a crown of seeds, a patty for my heart, Layers of green and red, a culinary work of art. Though I'm often held in hand, I’m a king in my own right.