Ole Mcfly was a silly old guy, what silly old guy was Ole Mcfly.
Rode about on a huge yellow digger, gun in his hand with finger on the trigger.
What was he doing? Nobody knew, didn’t have a clue, thought him a fool.
Caught him once taking a nap, there he sat, cat upon his lap, feather in his cap.
By his side lay a haversack, an old grey mack and rustic sack.
A yard of ale and milking pail.
Are you well? Pray tell, I enquired of him, having noticed the paleness of his skin.
He awoke as I spoke with a tear in his eye, I felt so sad for Ole Mcfly.
Quite well child, now go on your way.
You’ll have more dire things to do, on this blessed day.
I enjoyed my chat with Ole McFly
Ole Mcfly that troubled old guy.