I’d hate to be centipede (of legs I’ve only two),
For if new trousers I should need (as oftentimes I do),
The bill would come to such a lot ‘twould tax an Astorbilt,
Or else I’d have to turn a Scot and caper in a kilt.
I’m jolly glad I haven’t got a neck like a giraffe.
I’d want to tie it in a knot and shorten it by half.
Or, as I wear my collars high, how laundry men would gloat!
And what a lot of beer I’d buy to lubricate my throat!
I’d hate to be a goldfish, snooping round a crystal globe,
A naughty little bold fish, that distains chemise of robe.
The public stare I couldn’t bear, if naked as a stone,
And when my toilet I prepare, I’d rather be alone.
I’d hate to be an animal, an insect or a fish.
To be the least like bird or beast I’ve not the slightest wish.
It’s best I find to be resigned, and stick to Nature’s plan:
Content am I to live and die, just – Ordinary MAN.