The Lad With The Magpie, Perched on his head

 

Among the great unwashed, and the great unfed

There’s a lad who’s strange, it must be said

He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed

He’s the lad with the magpie, perched on his head

 

He’d scragged an egg from a nest in the hedge

Hatched a chick in a box on a ledge

With parental pride he’d watched it fledge

Kept it watered, kept it fed

And he taught the magpie to perch on his head

 

A pirate has a parrot perched on his shoulder

Our lad chose corvids instead  

Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder

The lad with a magpie perched on his head

 

A murder of crows, like in Agatha’s books

An unkindness of ravens, on tenterhooks   

A party of jays. A clamour of rooks

A tiding of magpies, inquisitive looks

Unkindness and murder fill me with dread

For the lad with the magpie perched on his head

 

He’s only in it for the craic

The lad with magpie crap down his back

Magpie lime like vulture cack

Has he suffered a paintbomb attack?

As classy as an unmade bed

The lad with the magpie perched on his head

 

Marred by epithets, labelled inbred 

Names to suggest that his mum was unwed

The lad with the magpie perched on his head

 

He’s a right Billy-no-mates except for his bird

But I envy the lad even though he’s a nerd

I’ve a lot of respect for the lad aforesaid

The lad with the magpie perched on his head