But let's move on from sandwiches
And tea and gin and stuff
It's time to party, guys and gals,
So meet my friend, the chough.
He wears his orange beak just so,
Black feathers just like that
And never has he in his life
Worn scarf or socks or hat
He wears his orange beak just so
Between his beady eyes
Which scan the country round about
and widen in surprise
Suspenders, stockings - his seams so straight,
Surely this will find his mate?
Cross-dressing choughs are hard to find,
But only if they're broad of mind
But look, but look in the cherry tree!
Who is he with?- its Werrity!
Oh little chough, fly off apace
To sanctuary and state of grace
Or even just a nesting box.
At any cost – avoid the Fox.