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I got all my fingers cut off,
from holding the tree as I swung my axe,
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cause he don’t wanna fly,
then it looks like he is the goose,
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today whilst at the zoo,
he flung in the face of that rude old lady
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to a sad, fishy groove,
and it’s blues are wailed away,
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A feather on its own
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and there can’t be a better place,
than the spot on a duck
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with a hook full of bait
the day was warm and clear,
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and the will to defend
and you waltzed on up with a saw,
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on this cold old bowl
in a lonesome toilet block,
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than I have with this shoe,
because I’ve only got one leg,
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