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Old John had bred a chequered cock, the finest in the club.
The envy of his club mates, especially in the pub.
It delighted all the fancy when it dropped out of the sky
And was one you could rely on, one that would never see a pie. |
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It returned from every race point, and never went astray.
And every time John pooled it, it was always sure to pay.
But somewhere in the village, dwelled a funny sort of guy-
Old Sammy, with a craving for the taste of pigeon pie. |
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The bird was still improving and winning every race.
Old John had grown conceited, by the look upon his face.
But Sammy, with his craving, when he looked up in the sky,
Made plans about a pigeon, in a crusty pigeon pie. |
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The chequered cock that John had bred had caught old Sammy's eye.
And his craving grew the stronger when he saw it flying by.
It became old Sam's obsession and I'm telling you no lie;
For he vowed to see it cooking, in a tasty pigeon pie. |
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Now John was getting careless for the safety of his bird.
And would leave the loft door open, which to me was quite absurd..
For Sammy, who was cunning, when he saw John passing by,
Would think about the open door and pigeon in a pie. |
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For with his strange obsession he hungered for a feed
And the thought of all those luscious birds made Sammy's poor heart bleed.
So cunningly he plotted, with a sly look in his eye,
To go and steal the chequered cock, the next time John passed by. |
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Now the climax of the story might seem boring at the end
But to me it seemed real funny, so bear with me my friend.
For John had grown suspicious of the look in Sammy's eye
And he doubled back towards the loft to catch the crafty guy. |
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He had put his steel-toed work-boots on and was hid behind the door.
Hoping, if old Sammy came, he'd be crawling on the floor.
And sure enough, old Sammy came, with his end up in the grass.
And the force of the explosion, hit him up the Khyber Pass. |
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Now the moral of the story is, If you crave for pigeon
pie,
Don't purloin the pigeons or you'll cop one in the eye.
And if you own a winning bird, don't hold your head aloft,
Keep a lock upon your crowing and one upon your loft. |
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