I once bought a bird at a pet shop, just off Knowsley
But it didn't sing nor, lift a wing, had ceased to be

I took it straight back to the owner, he said, "Don't despair."
"The Norwegian Blue sleeps a lot." "Note its feathers, so fair."

I yelled, "Polly, wake!" and gave a shake to his small cage
I said, "It's passed on." "No, it's just stunned." I felt enraged

He said, "It's just homesick, it pines for the fjords." and he laughed
I said, "No, it isn't, it's crawled off to sleep ever aft."

I said, "See the perch, that slab of birch its feet are nailed to?"
"This bird is deceased, it is at peace, what will you do?"

He told me to bring it to Bolton and, they'd make it square
After some confusion, I finally found my way there

It was the same shop, a false moustache was on his lip
I asked why he'd lied. "It was a pun." he quickly quipped

I told him it wasn't a pun, he said, "A palindrome."
"For Bolton, the palindrome's Notlob, it doesn't hit home."

He gave me a shrug, asked if I'd like to buy a slug
"No, I want a bird." "Slugs don't sing well, don't be absurd!"

At this point, a stiff major general said, "Alright, that's it!"
"It's getting too silly, I'm putting an end to this skit."

So, that's how it ends, there is no more, this tale is through
It was just a skit, a funny bit, Norwegian Blue