Long before the human race

Had piddled in our sea,

We, the mighty race of Gulls

Were where we ought to be.

Nesting high upon the cliffs

And hunting on the shore,

Till Man came to the seaside

And declared an open war.

He pumped his filthy effluent

To wash up on the land,

Then drove down every weekend

Just to sit there in the sand.

But we shall fight them on the beaches

We shall fight them in the air

And when they sit upon our shore

We'll shite upon them there.

We shall dine upon their rubbish

Among their cans and jars,

To get gastroenteritis

Which we'll dump upon their cars.

Did they think it a coincidence

That weapons-grade bird shite

Looks black upon their lighter cars

And on dark ones shows up white?

When humans have been driven out

And received a final peck,

Perhaps then they'll think 'Some seagull'

And then maybe add, 'Some neck'.

Poetry by Various Contributors

Captain Slogg

19.04.07 Front Page

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