Its a me, I say when I cry my name, As you play my titular game. I am a popular little Italian, Come and choose me and we'll win those medallions

When you see a witch coming you will flee For nobody likes to be turned into me Run away fast, with a swish of your cloak, For soon you might be forced to croak

I'm yellow and soft and clad in red. Running out of honey, is something I dread. On these occasions, Oh bother, is often what I've said.

If you're in trouble you might be said to be in me. I pair with traffic and surprisingly, PB Though many will know me as my cousin, jelly

I once met an Irish Chief Who accused me of being a thief But my only bounty was from his home county This riddle condemned me -good grief!