The Awful Story of Fly Boy

Anthony Ascot Sebastian Fry
Was a boy who believed he was a terrible fly,
He wore goggles on his eyeballs and wings on his back,
And when his mum made rice pudding, he shouted “Attack!”.

He buzzed ‘round the living room, gathered eggs in the loo,
Mum took him to the doctor, she didn’t know what else to do,
The doctor took his temperature and felt for a beat,
And, taking off his stethoscope, said: “Well, it isn’t his feet,
Feed him on sugar lumps and avoid any spiders,
And keep a close eye on him to see what transpires.”

But later that evening Bojangles the maid,
Sprayed Anthony Ascot, she said she was paid,
And as he lay gasping his last laboured breath,
He whispered “Do flies go to Heaven after death?”
And as he lay coughing in a cloud of Vapona,
Specially imported from the dock at Pomona,
He reached for his gas mask and called out “Buzz, buzz,
Prepare for some fly-wrath, you low-level scuzz!”

And wings fair a-flapping he rose to the sky
And everyone pointed: “Look out! There’s a fly!”

And he dive-bombed the doctor’s, he dive-bombed the store,
He would have dive-bombed the florist bit it isn’t there any more,
And he said to the Homies in their own dialect,
“I am the mean Fly Boy, so show me respect!”

And he flew off in the sunset and was seen there no more,
Though they’re talking about him, down at the store,
And his mother still weeps, crying “How did I fail?”
And the ill-fated Bojangles is banged up in jail.

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Filed under comic verse, whimsy

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