Letras: Flanders & Swann. The Wild Boar.

If you hear a loud 'whoosh'

In the African bush

And an animal comes to the fore,

Who is basically pig

But more hairy and big

You will know you have met with a Boar.



You are glued to the spot;

Will he kill you or not?

No need to have fears about that.

Now he's made you stand fast,

And you're cornered at last,

All he wants is a nice little chat.



But don't be misled;

Soon you'll wish you were dead,

That instead he was after your gore,

For Oh, Oh what a bore he is, what a thundering thumping bore!



In monotonous grunts he will tell you of hunts

Where for days he'd eluded the field,

He will tell you his sow should be farrowing now

And enlarge on her annual yield.

He will say with an air, that for brushing the hair

His bristle's the elegant thing,

And proudly confide they are after his hide

For no less a man than a King.

Then a joke he will try as you stifle a sigh

And deny that you've heard it before,

Thinking Oh, Oh what a bore he is, what a thundering thumping bore!



As you laugh at his jokes (Ha ha ha ha ha ha)

'I'm a popular bloke', he will think.

When you're ready to burst,

Then 'Hello there!' he'll cry

To each poor passer-by

The ones that have not seen him first.

For on sight of the beast they will run to the east,

And the north and the west and the south,

And long for the day when his head's on a tray,

With an lemon to stop up his mouth.

They south as they run;

'He's an excellent son,

An a wonderful fellow, We're sure!'

But Oh, Oh what a bore he is, what a thundering thumping,

Down-in-the-dump-ing

(Grunt grunt grunt grunt)

Thumping bore!