It's Not Easy Being A Witch's: Chapter 1

It's Not Easy Being A Witch's Son

It's not easy being a witch's son
I should know 'cause my Mum is one
I recall she once told me to clean up my room
And not really thinking, I used her own broom

Looking back now, I must have been sleeping
I knew witches' brooms are not made for sweeping
They get quite upset if you use them to clean
At best they get sulky, at worst they get mean

Before I could start to sweep up the floor
My Mum's broom had swept me right out the front door
It swept me straight up to a dizzying height
Hands gripping the handle, my knuckles all white

Then we plummeted downwards, the ground getting bigger
And I'm sure that just then I heard the broom snigger
But just before we became a broom-and-boy splat
The broom levelled off, took us back to our flat

It isn't so easy being a wizard's lad
There's one in our family, and that one’s my Dad
He leaves spell-books and potions all over the flat
If you don't watch your step, you end up as a bat

One day in the bathroom, I was washing my hair
Not knowing then that the bottle in there
Contained shrinking cream instead of shampoo
You can guess what happened next, can't you?

I shrank right down to the size of a pea
I screamed for my parents to come and help me
Being so small, all that came out was a squeak
Mum and Dad didn't find me for over a week

I lived in the soap dish during all that time
I couldn't get out, was too slippery to climb
I had to eat soap to avoid getting leaner
It tasted real bad, but I'd never felt cleaner

It's not much fun being a sorcerer’s brother
My brother is one and my sister's another
I’m the youngest of all and sometimes, for hours
I'm used as their guinea pig for testing their powers!

I’ve frequently been transformed into a frog
Or a pig or a bug or a flea-bitten dog
But my siblings haven’t yet mastered their craft
So sometimes they turn me into something quite daft

Like a bright purple tortoise covered with hair
Or an eight-legged fish with a snout like a bear
I’m tired of being bombarded by tricks
And constantly transmogrified just for kicks

I’ll read all those magic books, learn every spell
I’ll learn how to mix nasty potions as well
I’ll stock up on whammies and hexes and curses
I’ll memorize only the foulest of verses

I’ll turn my Mum into a bow-legged fairy
And Dad I’ll turn into a cross-eyed canary
My brother and sister I’ll turn into mice
Then I’ll have peace and quiet, now won’t that be nice?