Once, in an old docking town,
Near the bottom of Switzerland,
Living in the ocean, on the ground,
Lived this swarthy oyster, who had a band.

This band was called “Those tall and rough”.
But to them the oyster was just a bit tough,
They didn’t like his unshaven look,
Or the deep tan straight out of a story book.

But this swarthy oyster was no fruit,
He wasn’t a vegetable and he didn’t give a hoot,
Whether or not his ‘tall and rough’ band,
Thought he was odd, for his lack of hands.

He wasn’t much to look at, but a talented guy,
Difficult to talk to, and prob’ly hard to fry,
But everyone celebrated, the day he turned eight,
The day Mr Swarthy Oyster, was ate.