Polly Wanna Crackup

Okay Doc, what's it this time - the couch or the chair'
I'll take either, what do I care'
These sessions don't seem to be working too well
If you're prying into my childhood, I got nothing to tell

How many parrots have you treated this way'
I need some serious help, Doc, and I'm here to say
If I don't get relief soon we're talking serious breakdown
I can't take another day in this cage as a clown

I'm living in this joint now for almost three years
This little old guy is driving me to tears
It's "Polly this" and "Polly that"
Hey, I'm a male bird so he should cut that crap, babe

He carries on with these gushy words
Like, "How's my sweetie" - "how's pretty bird'"
No wonder I'm schizo living like that
I'd like to knock him right on his prat

I pace the cage all day, can't sleep at night
He covers my cage, man what a fright
The only relief is when he heads for the store
Then I get even by spitting seeds on the floor

"How's my sweetie, how's pretty bird'"
The ugliest words I've ever heard
Day in, day out, this drivel goes on
Can't stand it, Doc, I'm going ding dong babe

And another thing, Doc, that food I get'
It's always moldy and mostly wet
The old skin flint is too cheap to buy
A decent kernel of barley or rye

He feeds me these seeds that he reads birds should eat
If I repeat his cuss words I might get a treat
A salted cracker, that's what he thinks is so neat
One more "Polly want a cracker" and he's dead meat, babe

Doc, help me here, you're not saying a word
This is too much talking for this feathered bird
I need some answers, not a knowing smile
I'm coming unglued and you say, "Stay a while"

It's him or me, Doc, there's no other way
There is no politically correct way to say
I've had it, and I can't take it anymore
One more "pretty bird" and I crap on his floor, babe

Get this, Doc, he pulls feathers from my tail
Sticks them in his hat and laughs when I wail
It's humiliating, Doc, and downright rude
He definitely needs sensitivity training, not to be crude

Well, I see my time's up, so I'll give it a rest
I'll come back Tuesday and tell you the best
I haven't mentioned his flea-bitten dog
His bark reminds me of a squealing hog

So long Doc, just mail me the bill
I've got Medicare, ain't that a thrill'
You should be thankful you're gonna get paid
I'm headed back to that tyrant, I'm afraid

Words by David "Uncle Duke" Keaggy, Music by Phil Keaggy