The Truly Woeful Tale of the 'Elvis' Bird

Then; The Truth (1954-1977)

Of all the tragic tales I know,
There's one that makes me shudder so,
The saddest story that I've heard,
The story of the 'Elvis' bird.
For many years ago it seems,
There lived among the rectory beams,
A parrot, gold, with feathered wings,
And all the other birdy things...
Except he had a human head,
With greased back hair as black as lead,
Massive collar, mirror shades,
Deep brown tan that never fades,
Trembling lip, rotating pelvis,
The townsfolk said they'd call him 'Elvis.'
I saw him once when I was small,
I had his picture on my wall.

The Elvis bird could really sing,
Almost like the real thing.
A manager soon took him on.
A ex-dog-catcher called Big Don.
And soon his fame spread wide and far,
Till he became a massive star.
Don built him a palatial cage,
Where he'd live while not on stage,
And sing behind gilded gates,
To all his sycophantic mates,
Who loved to see the rich bird things,
That mega-stardom always brings,
TVs mounted in the ceiling.
But in the sky, a vulture, wheeling....

He redefined the modern song,
But very soon it all went wrong.
Elvis gorged on massive feeds,
Of deep-fried monkey nuts and seeds,
And feasted on barbiturates,
Prescribed to him by big Don's vets!
With his vast expanding chest,
He had to buy a bigger vest,
And as his weight began to lurch,
He got too heavy for his perch!

Continued: Part 2