You know, I was made for this job

I’ve got pretty good at it too

Scaring crows is a vocation

But nowadays it makes me blue

 

I used to like the simple life

Found it fulfilling to stand tough

But nature takes its toll, alas,

I’ve lost the means to strut my stuff

 

Long ago, when I first started

I was keen to make some friends

But it seems my arms-out posture

Was doomed to pay poor dividends

 

For a start, it looks quite hostile

Whether from close-up or afar

And if I were to find a buddy

He’d never get me in the car

 

I’m not built to go out drinking

I cannot even scratch my nose

And my balance is too shaky

Because I don’t have proper toes

 

My big head has gotten wobbly

I’m told my eyes look flat and dull

That my smile is way too creepy

(I was told that by a bull)

 

My hat used to be so dashing

It matched my smashing dungarees

Now we all are getting threadbare

All slowly fading by degrees

 

Perhaps I am being paranoid

And I’m sorry to be a bore

But it’s hard to find some comfort

When you are made of itchy straw

 

I’m in need of new ambitions

Maybe a change of view will do

Some new clothes wouldn’t go amiss

And a day off is overdue

 

So, I have a plan of action

There’ll be some changes soon, you’ll see

Yep, I’m going to meet my maker

He’ll come by at half past three