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Quotes about cluck

Old Macdonald

(words & music by randy starr)
Old macdonald had a farm, ee-i-ee-i-o
And on that farm he had some chicks, ee-i-ee-i-o
With a cluck, cluck here, a cluck, cluck there
Loud as they could be
And when those chicks got out of line
Chicken fricasse
With a cluck, cluck here, a cluck, cluck there
Loud as they could be
And when those chicks got out of line
Chicken fricasse
Well, old macdonald had a farm, ee-i-ee-i-o
And on that farm he had some cows, ee-i-ee-i-o
With a moo, moo here, a moo, moo there
Cattle everywhere
And when those cows got out of line
Hamburger, medium rare
With a moo, moo here, a moo, moo there
Cattle everywhere
And when those cows got out of line

[...] Read more

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Christina Georgina Rossetti

Minnie And Mattie

Minnie and Mattie
And fat little May,
Out in the country,
Spending a day.
Such a bright day,
With the sun glowing,
And the trees half in leaf,
And the grass growing.
Pinky white pigling
Squeals through his snout,
Woolly white lambkin
Frisks all about.
Cluck! cluck! the nursing hen
Summons her folk, -
Ducklings all downy soft
Yellow as yolk.
Cluck! cluck! the mother hen
Summons her chickens
To peck the dainty bits
Found in her pickings.

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I Choose To Be A Rooster

I can strut it like a rooster,
Recently freed from being locked up inside of a coop.
I can strut it like a rooster,
Recently freed.
I can strut it like a rooster,
To cluck as I please.

I can strut it like a rooster,
Recently freed from being locked up inside of a coop.
I can strut it like a rooster,
Recently freed.
I can strut it like a rooster,
To cluck as I please.

And before the dawn,
I can disturb your sleep.
And as the Sun arises,
You wont hear from me a peep.
Because,
I choose to be a rooster.

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Ballad of Another Ophelia

Oh the green glimmer of apples in the orchard,
Lamps in a wash of rain!
Oh the wet walk of my brown hen through the stackyard,
Oh tears on the window pane!

Nothing now will ripen the bright green apples,
Full of disappointment and of rain,
Brackish they will taste, of tears, when the yellow dapples
Of autumn tell the withered tale again.

All round the yard it is cluck, my brown hen,
Cluck, and the rain-wet wings,
Cluck, my marigold bird, and again
Cluck for your yellow darlings.

For the grey rat found the gold thirteen
Huddled away in the dark,
Flutter for a moment, oh the beast is quick and keen,
Extinct one yellow-fluffy spark.

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The Duck

Behold the duck.
It does not cluck.
A cluck it lacks.
It quacks.
It is specially fond
Of a puddle or pond.
When it dines or sups,
It bottoms ups.

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To Those Who Don't Moo

If a cow doesn't drink milk,
To get its moo.
And a chicken doesn't eat an egg,
To cluck.
Why do we pay taxes...
To those who don't moo,
But cluck us up?

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Happy Easter

Who wants to be a rooster,
Crowing before dawn everyday.
Who wants to be that rooster?
Who wants to be that rooster?

Who wants to be a rooster,
Crowing before dawn everyday.
Who wants to be that rooster?
Who wants to be that rooster?

To strut and cluck for someone sleeping,
To get up.
And do that if programmed before the dawn shows up.
And if that rooster gets into a rut...
Who will then do the clucking?

Or wake up,
To collect the eggs!

Who wants to be a rooster,

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Those Sexual Innuendos

Innocence has blown up in a puff!

Those,
Sexual innuendos...
Can stir things up!
And addict a kid to lust.
With a stirring that corrupts.

All those sexual innuendos,
Can stir things up.
And when children think of chicken...
They want to know if the rooster plucks.
And in what position does a chicken cluck.

Those,
Sexual innuendos...
Can stir things up!
And addict a kid to lust.
With a stirring that corrupts.

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The Muscovy Duck

The rooster is a brainless dude, although he sports a crest,
The hen’s an awful fool we know, though hen-eggs are the best;
She’ll flutter, cackling, anywhere save through a gate or door,
And try to hatch a door-knob, too, for forty days or more.
The turkey is of small account, we’ll let it go in peace,
And other fowls are ornaments, and geese are simply geese;
But over all that cackle, hiss, or gobble, quack, or cluck,
My favourite shall always be the quaint Muscovy duck.

I’m fond of Mrs Muscovy, I think she knows the most
Of all the different kinds of fowls that poultry-breeders boast.
She knows best how to build her nest when laying time is past,
And you should see the knowing pride with which she sets at last.
She waddles out for food and drink—she’s not afraid of us,
And if we fix her now and then she doesn’t make a fuss;
No frantic flaps of useless wings, no cackle, hiss, nor cluck,
She’s queen of all philosophers—the quaint Muscovy duck.

It is a wondrous thing to see, and a wondrous thing to tell,
Her ducklings know as much as ducks the day they leave the shell.

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Homomatopoia

Hiss,
Grunt,
roar
Gibber
growl
screech
Humm
drone
buzz
chirp
whistle
tweet
boom
yelp
cry
Bell
bark
squawk
woof
howl

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