383 – The Pheasant Plucker’s Mate

Poem number 383
The Pheasant Plucker’s Mate
I’m not the pheasant plucker
I’m the pheasant plucker’s mate
And I’m only plucking pheasants
‘Cause the pheasant plucker’s late
He’s been plucking feathered pheasants
In his pheasant plucking shed
With a fellow pheasant plucker
But that pheasant plucker’s dead
So he’s plucking feathered pheasants
On his pheasant plucking own
And he’s pheasant plucking knackered
Plucking pheasants all alone
Hence today I’m plucking pheasants
While my pheasant plucker mate
Runs like hell to pheasant plucking
‘Cause he’s pheasant plucking late
So I’ll keep on plucking pheasants
While the pheasant plucker runs
But I’m only plucking pheasants
‘Til the pheasant plucker comes.