My dad he was a poultryman
He bought some geese one day
A dozen or so and when they came
He set them on the hay.

'Don't much like the look of them'
He swore, then swore again,
My dad could outswear anyone
And often did, but then

He knew he must be crafty
(That was his middle name)
'I'll teach that bugger for selling me
Such birds, I'll play his game'.

For a few days he did nothing
Then picking up the phone
Dialed the sellers number
Waited while it rung.

Had a polite conversation
While ascertaining facts
That the seller (who stays nameless)
Had no more geese in stock.

Two days later dad calls again
'Hello' the voice comes clear.
A pause, then dad speaks loudly
In a voice like a brigadier.

'Are you the chappie who sells geese?'
Dad getting in his stride.
'I am', 'Oh Good well I need ten,
For the Manor Orchard'. He lied.

'Call me in a week or so,
I have to go abroad.
A trip to Africa, don't you know.
A visit to brother Claude'.

Dad hung up, sat and waited.
He hummed a country song.
Picked his false teeth with a match.
Did not have to wait for long.

The die was cast,
The phone soon rang
I need say no more I think
Dad sold the geese back (at a profit)
Then gave us all a wink.