Grumbling on an empty beach,
With his pot belly bulging,
Is the sneering and moany, Murren.
The ogre is often found complaining,
Gritting his pointed teeth,
And frowning with his thick eyebrows.
He clutches at his crooked, nobbly club,
A blunt that he uses to wave at things he hates.
He calls the club, klub.
He is famous for his ongoing battle,
With the most awful and obnoxious of all creatures,
The very hated,
Flock of seagulls.
Murren loves the beach,
It is the only thing he adores apart from klub.
He loves how the sand feels,
He loves the smell of rotten fish,
He loves the sound of thundering waves,
But he hates…
The damned seagulls.
“Shitehawk!” he shouts,
“Bleddy things!”
Waving klub at them,
In some vain hope of bashing one,
Out of the great clear blue.
With his pot belly bulging,
Is the sneering and moany, Murren.
The ogre is often found complaining,
Gritting his pointed teeth,
And frowning with his thick eyebrows.
He clutches at his crooked, nobbly club,
A blunt that he uses to wave at things he hates.
He calls the club, klub.
He is famous for his ongoing battle,
With the most awful and obnoxious of all creatures,
The very hated,
Flock of seagulls.
Murren loves the beach,
It is the only thing he adores apart from klub.
He loves how the sand feels,
He loves the smell of rotten fish,
He loves the sound of thundering waves,
But he hates…
The damned seagulls.
“Shitehawk!” he shouts,
“Bleddy things!”
Waving klub at them,
In some vain hope of bashing one,
Out of the great clear blue.
But Murren never wins.
On one occasion,
They circled him,
Dropping bits of starfish,
From their beaks,
And onto his face.
That made him cross.
On one occasion,
They circled him,
And screamed non-stop,
All day and all night,
Never once letting up.
That made him mad.
On one occasion,
They circled him,
And dropped their waste,
Landing mucky paste,
Upon his shoulder.
That made him fume with rage!
He decided one day to get his revenge on them,
By foraging in the local town,
To find scraps of bread.
He placed them in a pile,
All mounted up,
Then hid behind a rock,
Ready to jump out and bash them,
With his trusty friend,
Klub.
He waited and waited,
And sure enough,
One by one,
The birds flew down and began to feed.
Murren jumped out,
And chased the birds,
As they headed out to sea.
He screamed and ranted,
Shouted and raved,
Not realising that the cunning birds,
Had brought him into an oncoming wave…
The wave washed him out to sea,
And the trickster fiends,
Landed on their beach,
Saved,
From the presence of the nasty ogre.
Whilst he drifted out to sea,
Clutching hold of klub,
That was now acting as a flotation device,
He thought to himself,
How all of it could have been avoided.
If only he had not been so angry,
If only he had not be so grumpy,
If only… he had shared.
On one occasion,
They circled him,
Dropping bits of starfish,
From their beaks,
And onto his face.
That made him cross.
On one occasion,
They circled him,
And screamed non-stop,
All day and all night,
Never once letting up.
That made him mad.
On one occasion,
They circled him,
And dropped their waste,
Landing mucky paste,
Upon his shoulder.
That made him fume with rage!
He decided one day to get his revenge on them,
By foraging in the local town,
To find scraps of bread.
He placed them in a pile,
All mounted up,
Then hid behind a rock,
Ready to jump out and bash them,
With his trusty friend,
Klub.
He waited and waited,
And sure enough,
One by one,
The birds flew down and began to feed.
Murren jumped out,
And chased the birds,
As they headed out to sea.
He screamed and ranted,
Shouted and raved,
Not realising that the cunning birds,
Had brought him into an oncoming wave…
The wave washed him out to sea,
And the trickster fiends,
Landed on their beach,
Saved,
From the presence of the nasty ogre.
Whilst he drifted out to sea,
Clutching hold of klub,
That was now acting as a flotation device,
He thought to himself,
How all of it could have been avoided.
If only he had not been so angry,
If only he had not be so grumpy,
If only… he had shared.
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