The Querulous Squid of Dundee

(With apologies to Edgar Allan Poe.)

It was many and many a year ago
(At least two now, and maybe three)
That a cephalopod whom you may know
Lived in a place called Dundee;
And this squid he lived with no other thought
Than to drink and get drunk as could be.

He was a sot and his friends were all sots
Who would drink till they couldn’t see;
But he’d thirst with a thirst that was more than thirst,
This querulous squid of Dundee,
With a thirst that the other squids in the tavern
Took bets on how long he would pee.

The squidlets, not half so legally aged,
Went coveting his ID.
Yes, that is the reason they stole his wallet
And tied him up to a tree,
So that his lowborn kinsquids came,
Driving a pink Humvee,
To bear him away to his ramshackle house
In the no-class part of Dundee.

Oh, the stars never shine but he’s drinking his wine,
That querulous squid of Dundee;
And the beers never pour but he’s roaring for more,
That querulous squid of Dundee;
And so all the nighttime he lies down in the slime
Of the flophouse, the flophouse, the dirt and the grime,
When he can’t find his front door key;
When his wife hides the front door key.

Famous Hat