(Proud to be lowering the bar of elitist poetry...)

 

There was a girl that he adored

He planned to brag that he had scored

But we all know the bounder never got her;

He never got to climb upon

Cos Grainger went for Weasley Ron

She found his ginger features were much hotter;

Harry Poeter, Harry Poeter, Harry Poeter, Harry Poeter.

 

He’d had a longing in his tool

From his first day at Hogwarts School

To pork her did the specky, four-eyed rotter;

He fantasised her in the buff,

He sketched her minge complete with muff,

He scrawled graffiti in his homework jotter;

Harry Poeter, Harry Poeter, Harry Poeter, Harry Poeter.

 

And when he lay alone in bed

He’d pull his Nimbus raw and red,

Imagining one day that he would mott her;

But while his bulging bollocks growed

That wanker Weasley shoots his load

So poor old Harry never got to slot her;

Harry Poeter, Harry Poeter, Harry Poeter, Harry Poeter.

 

He wished his one-time mate were lame,

Contracted crabs; and so became

A bitter and a twisted jealous plotter;

He cast one spell to make Ron gay,

The next to turn his cock to clay-

The fiendish Wingardia Terracotta;

Harry Poeter, Harry Poeter, Harry Poeter, Harry Poeter.

 

But this was all to no avail

And Harry P would ever fail

For Grainger was Ron Weasley’s squelchy squatter;

She sit astride the face of Ron

While Harry filled a demi-john

Onanistically – he never got her!

Harry Poeter, Harry Poeter, Harry Poeter, Harry Poeter.