A F Harrold

37 Ways To Leave Your Yak.

You can leave it as left luggage at Fulham Broadway Station.
You can leave it in your will as a gift for all the nation.
You can wrap it up and post it to some elderly relation.
Or send it back to Amazon as a customer cancellation.

You can chain it to a lamp post with the appropriate length of chain.
Flush it down the toilet or push it from the train.
Buy a one way ticket on a package tour to Spain.
Or bake it in a cake and then leave it in the rain.

You can leave your Yak in France,
You can leave it at a dance,
You can lose your Yak in poker if you think you have the chance.

You can join the Yak’s Trade Union and force the Yak to picket.
Creep into Lord’s late at night and disguise it as a wicket.
Buy an arsenic lollipop and entice the Yak to lick it.
You can leave it high or leave it dry or lose it in a thicket.

You can leave your Yak a broken Yak, all twisted up and bitter.
Call Rent-o-Kill to come and deal with a great big hairy critter.
Report it to the authorities for the dropping, say, of litter
And when the Yak tells you he’s going to prison say, “Really? What a bummer.”

You can give your Yak to God.
You can leave it in a pod.
You can call yourself a rocker and declare your Yak a mod.

You can feed your Yak Brussels sprouts and very soon he’ll leave you.
You can fake your death or suicide, the Yak’s bound to believe you.
Bury him in the orchard, sit back, admire the tree view.
You can get your Yak press-ganged in Portsmouth for the heave to.

You can turn your Yak to pasta, sarnie, pie or quiche or strudel.
You must shave your Yak carefully to prepare the big bamboozle.
Go to Crufts (when Crufts is on) and pretend your Yak’s a poodle
And if they question your dogs’ pedigree explain it with a doodle.

You can leave your Yak at home.
You can leave it on its own.
You can leave it like a coward with a message on the phone.

Hit the road Yak,
And don’tcha come back
No more, no more, no more, no more…

Now why would I want to leave a Yak? Am I just a nutter?
A yak’s not bad, they’re big and strong, make milk and cheese and butter.
They’re hairy and quite beautiful when eyelids start to flutter
But although I speak quite clearly the Yak don’t hear a word I utter.

He’s deaf to all suggestions of things I would like to do.
Every weekend it’s just the same, we end up at the zoo
And afterwards to Joshi’s for a veggie vindaloo
And no Yak’s pleasant company when that lot passes through.