This is my beak
I use it to speak
My mom was a parrot
My dad was a drunk.
Half-boozer, half-parrot
I really can’t bear it
My torso has feathers
My liver has shrunk.
My dad wasn’t sober
That fateful October
He thought he’d got hold
Of a girl, not a bird.
Because of his habit
That lusty old maggot
Knew not what he screwed
‘Cause his vision was blurred.
I was born from an egg
And I nursed from a keg
And now I’m as drunk
As my lousy old man.
He’s degenerate waste
And has terrible taste
In his partners. But hey,
He can’t fly, and I can.
