For a Guy Who Writes as Much as I Do, You'd Think I'd Be a Better Lyricist

[Sing to yourself, as softly as possible]

Hush little baby, don't say a word.
Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird.

And if that mockingbird don't sing,
we'll check the store's return pol-i-cy.

And if that manager won't help,
we'll get a new bird off his shelf.

So now we're a pair of aviary thieves,
with telltale feathers poking out our sleeves.

But on the way to the parking lot,
we'll check to see what we have got.

And if that birdie turns out mean,
We'll set him free and flee the scene.

But if he tries to peck our eyes,
we'll pelt him with old french fries.

And you know how hard those can get,
A rain of pain on our ex-pet.

And if our car doors won't unlock,
We'll sprint away in our shoes and socks.

And if that pesky bird gives chase,
Um... I'm not sure what to sing in this place.

I wish I knew how the real lyrics go,
I'd check online but it's too slow.

And you're almost about to sleep,
I hear only some quiet peeps.

So I may research this a little later,
and quit assaulting wildlife with stale taters.

We should have stayed in that pet shop,
and by now our story would have stopped.

A real parent would have known this song.
...I made it up as I went along.

I'm slowly starting to realize,
how much parenting is improvised.