Soon after he hatched
Charles was quickly dispatched
By a cook at the Baron’s Table

Served ninth on the menu
At this royal venue
He found himself cleaned, trussed, and labeled

Chorus:
Oo-oooh!
Young Charles was a bonny squab
His parents often said
His mother wanted to call him George
But he got Chuck’d instead

To be served on a plate
Could not be his fate
Regardless of fine presentation

To soar up in the sky
Where free birds all flew by
Was much more befitting his station

With one careless boast
And a clumsier toast
By a bard with more “spirit” than grace

His carcass did slip
From her unsteady grip
And he caught every eye in the place

Chorus:
Oo-oooh!
Young Charles was a bonny squab
His parents often said
His mother wanted to call him George
But he got Chuck’d instead

He flew through the air
With nary a care
Despite lack of feathers and head

But returned to the ground
With a splattering sound
As the young bard’s face turned quite red

And what is the moral of this tale you may ask?

Please do not disdain
While I seek to explain
The lesson of this sad lament
​
Bard and bird paid the cost
Of being over-sauced
One by ale, one by condiment!