My father he shouted, "he needs to be clouted / His teeth on a wreath I'll hand him!" / My mother she cried, as she rushed to my side / "You're a brute and you don't understand him!" / So they sent for a witch with a terrible twitch / To ask how my future impressed her / She took one look at me / And cried, "He, he, he, he, he, he, he, he, he, *HE*! / What else could he be but a jester?" / A jester? A jester? A funny idea, a jester / No butcher, no baker, no candlestick maker / And me with the look of a fine undertaker / Impressed her as a jester? / But where was I to learn any comical turn? / It was not in a book on a shelf / No teacher to take me, to mold me and make me / A merry man, fool or an elf / But I'm proud to recall that in no time at all / with no other recourses but my own resources / with firm application and determination/ I made a fool of myself! My friends and my family, looked at me clammily / Thought there was something amiss / When others found various antics hilarious / All I could manage was this When I was a lad, I was gloomy and sad / As I was from the day I was born / When other babes giggled, and gurgled and wiggled / I proudly was loudly forlorn.
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