A cautionary tale of a boy who failed to realise he had a duck on his head
When Jack was a young boy, and down on his luck
He had the misfortune to pick up a duck
And why he should do this, I really can't say
But when he trudged down to the dungeon that day
With his toy sword in hand and his shield on his back
He was met by a beast that emitted a 'quack'
And feeling courageous, he struck with his sword
Heard the thud of its head as it hit the floorboard
(He didn't look down, see, and thought it was dead,
So failed to spot when it flew to his head.)
He emerged from the dungeon, his sword held on high
"I've vanquished the monster," his mum heard him cry
"That's all very nice, dear," his poor mother said
"But before we have tea, take the duck off your head."
So puzzled, he turned, and he went to his dad,
Saying "Daddy, I'm worried that mummy's gone mad,"
"She thinks that I'm wearing a duck as a hat,"
"Oh, what do you think is the matter with that?"
His father looked up, turned his head to and fro,
And replied "I'm afraid that the duck has to go,"
"You've got blue eyes and fair skin and hair that is red,"
"And none of it goes with that duck on your head."
He looked left and right, and he looked up and down,
He looked in the mirror, and started to frown,
For all he could see was the cut of his hair,
(With the big peak in front, it looked quite debonair)
So when, eating tea, they began to complain,
He decided his parents were really insane,
And looked so dejected his parents did stop,
Shared a glance, did not mention the duck on his mop.
And his dad, when at night into bed Jack did tuck,
Said nary a word 'bout the damnable duck.
But at night, as he twisted, unable to sleep,
Jack heard things which up from the kitchen did creep,
"I simply won't have it," his mother exclaimed,
"It isn't hygienic," the woman declaimed.
His father suggested "It's simply a phase,"
"He'll get rid of it soon, when he joins the new craze,"
So they left it at that, and they came up to bed,
And argued no more 'bout the duck on his head,
But time, as it passed, did not calm his mum's fears,
And his dad became prone to burst out into tears,
And the speech at the table was more and more forced,
Till seven months later, his parents divorced.
His teachers, at first, sent him out every day,
"We won't have the school uniform mocked in that way!"
At first, he went out then, polite and demure,
(He was otherwise really a good boy, I'm sure),
But as it persisted, his anger grew great,
Till he threw at his teacher the most of his hate:
"That's enough, I can't stand it, I don't give a fuck"
"About your imaginary, head-sitting duck."
To shout at his teacher, and swearing so loud?
They expelled him: it simply just wasn't allowed.
So with no education, he tried to find work,
As a dustbinman, cleaner, or shopping store clerk.
The builder just laughed, till his face turned bright red,
And pointed a finger at the duck on Jack's head.
"H&S wouldn't have it, what use would that be,"
"When you're hit in the noggin by flying debris?"
So he took to the streets, with the clothes on his back
And the duck on his head gave a lamenting quack.
He's dead now, of course, and all buried away,
One cold winter evening he died where he lay.
And near where he's buried, there lies a small lake,
Where ever so often, just for old time's sake,
With a flurry of feathers, the water is struck,
And upon the lake floats a solitary duck.
He had the misfortune to pick up a duck
And why he should do this, I really can't say
But when he trudged down to the dungeon that day
With his toy sword in hand and his shield on his back
He was met by a beast that emitted a 'quack'
And feeling courageous, he struck with his sword
Heard the thud of its head as it hit the floorboard
(He didn't look down, see, and thought it was dead,
So failed to spot when it flew to his head.)
He emerged from the dungeon, his sword held on high
"I've vanquished the monster," his mum heard him cry
"That's all very nice, dear," his poor mother said
"But before we have tea, take the duck off your head."
So puzzled, he turned, and he went to his dad,
Saying "Daddy, I'm worried that mummy's gone mad,"
"She thinks that I'm wearing a duck as a hat,"
"Oh, what do you think is the matter with that?"
His father looked up, turned his head to and fro,
And replied "I'm afraid that the duck has to go,"
"You've got blue eyes and fair skin and hair that is red,"
"And none of it goes with that duck on your head."
He looked left and right, and he looked up and down,
He looked in the mirror, and started to frown,
For all he could see was the cut of his hair,
(With the big peak in front, it looked quite debonair)
So when, eating tea, they began to complain,
He decided his parents were really insane,
And looked so dejected his parents did stop,
Shared a glance, did not mention the duck on his mop.
And his dad, when at night into bed Jack did tuck,
Said nary a word 'bout the damnable duck.
But at night, as he twisted, unable to sleep,
Jack heard things which up from the kitchen did creep,
"I simply won't have it," his mother exclaimed,
"It isn't hygienic," the woman declaimed.
His father suggested "It's simply a phase,"
"He'll get rid of it soon, when he joins the new craze,"
So they left it at that, and they came up to bed,
And argued no more 'bout the duck on his head,
But time, as it passed, did not calm his mum's fears,
And his dad became prone to burst out into tears,
And the speech at the table was more and more forced,
Till seven months later, his parents divorced.
His teachers, at first, sent him out every day,
"We won't have the school uniform mocked in that way!"
At first, he went out then, polite and demure,
(He was otherwise really a good boy, I'm sure),
But as it persisted, his anger grew great,
Till he threw at his teacher the most of his hate:
"That's enough, I can't stand it, I don't give a fuck"
"About your imaginary, head-sitting duck."
To shout at his teacher, and swearing so loud?
They expelled him: it simply just wasn't allowed.
So with no education, he tried to find work,
As a dustbinman, cleaner, or shopping store clerk.
The builder just laughed, till his face turned bright red,
And pointed a finger at the duck on Jack's head.
"H&S wouldn't have it, what use would that be,"
"When you're hit in the noggin by flying debris?"
So he took to the streets, with the clothes on his back
And the duck on his head gave a lamenting quack.
He's dead now, of course, and all buried away,
One cold winter evening he died where he lay.
And near where he's buried, there lies a small lake,
Where ever so often, just for old time's sake,
With a flurry of feathers, the water is struck,
And upon the lake floats a solitary duck.