Every so often on my journey through this crazy world I have the urgent need to write ‘off the wall’ crazy stuff, just for the hell of it. I’ve decided to reserve a special page on my blog; the “Soooz Says Stuff Page” The following is the result of one such trip into mayhem. The original Limmerick goes (I believe) as follows.
“I’m not the pheasant plucker
I’m the pheasant plucker’s son
I’m only plucking pheasants
till the pheasant plucker comes.”
Then we have my expanded alternate version:
WARNING! Dangerous when spoken in company … unless you are completely sober … and are in possession of teeth … preferably your own.
I am a peasant who plucks pheasants
Morning noon and night.
T’is no easy task this pheasant plucking
and, I just can’t get it right.
I pluck ‘em fast; I pluck em slow
Till I’m flat out on the floor
Doesn’t matter what I do,
there always is one more.
Now a peasant’s life’s no pleasant picnic
I truly kid you not.
But plucking clucking pheasants
Is the only job I’ve got.
I don’t really understand it
Perhaps I try too hard
Chasing pheasants to be plucked
Out in the plucking yard
The farmer’s kids stand watching
And laughing till they cry,
If I could be offended
I would be mortified.
But “a pluck’s a pluck” my mom says
And brother she should know
She pleasantly plucks pheasants
Everywhere she goes.
She is the princess of pheasant plucking
Her fame is world renowned
She plucks her way from shore to shore
And sleeps on duck plucked down.
She can pluck while seated,
She plucks standing on her head
I’ve heard tell she also plucks
Whilst lying in her bed.
Matters not which way I pluck ‘em
I cannot match her score
I just don’t understand it,
I really pluck ‘em raw.
After all this pleasant pheasant plucking
You think I’d quit the game
But no, not me, I go right on plucking
Till they all look the same.
At end of day when I’m plucked out
I can’t even raise a peasant smile
I have a drink at the Plucker Inn
After I walk a country mile.
My friends all gather round me,
and give me drinks for free,
they kindly ask about my mother’s
latest, pheasant plucking spree.
One day as I was plucking pheasants
In my usual plucking place
A stranger came up screeching!
Cursing loudly in my face.
“My god! What are you doing?”
Is what she asked of me,
“I’m a peasant plucking pheasants,”
said I, “as you can plainly see.”
“Are you a fool?” she cried aloud.
“You haven’t got it right.”
“Don’t tell me that fair lady,
‘cause I pluck pheasants day and night”.
She slapped my pleasant peasant face
Then she screamed out fit to burst.
“If you’re going to pluck a pheasant, peasant
You’re meant to kill it first!”
I can hear you groaning from all the way down here in Oz! … You were warned! 😊😊😊