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John Lennon’s “A Spaniard in the Works” Turns 47

By: Peter Macdiarmid/Getty Images News

It’s hard to believe it’s been that long since John Lennon’s second book of odd poems, weird stories and completely freakish drawings was published, and I’m still celebrating it’s fantastic strangeness.

“A Spaniard in the Works” was published on June 24, 1965 and gave a glimpse into John’s incredibly creative and unique mind.

When I first stumbled upon John’s books (my older sister had both of them–his first book , “In His Own Write” was published in 1964), I was fascinated and delighted with his cheeky and off-the-wall humor.

His sense of humor, of course, was apparent in interviews with the media, but this was a whole new level of merry madness.

The mark of his twisted mind left an indelible imprint on me at a very young age, and I bear the scars proudly.

I loved the play-on-words that Lennon so deftly expressed, as well as his odd world of scribbled drawings that were mostly lighthearted and whimsical yet strangely perverted.

Here’s one of the poems from the book, in case you’ve never had the pleasure of exploring John’s literary side or simply forgot about it:

 

THE FAT BUDGIE 

I have a little budgie
He is my very pal
I take him walks in Britain
I hope I always shall. 

I call my budgie Jeffrey
My grandads name's the same
I call him after grandad
Who had a feathered brain. 

Some people don't like budgies
The little yellow brats
They eat them up for breakfast
Or give them to their cats. 

My uncle ate a budgie
It was so fat and fair.
I cried and called him Ronnie
He didn't seem to care 

Although his name was Arthur
It didn't mean a thing.
He went into a petshop
And ate up everything. 

The doctors looked inside him,
To see what they could do,
But he had been too greedy
He died just like a zoo. 

My Jeffrey chirps and twitters
When I walk into the room,
I make him scrambled egg on toast
And feed him with a spoon. 

He sings like other budgies
But only when in trim
But most of all on Sunday
Thats when I plug him in. 

He flies about the room sometimes
And sits upon my bed
And if he's really happy
He does it on my head. 

He's on a diet now you know
>From eating far too much
They say if he gets fatter
He'll have to wear a crutch. 

It would be funny wouldn't it
A budgie on a stick
Imagine all the people
Laughing till they're sick. 

So that's my budgie Jeffrey
Fat and yellow too
I love him more than daddie
And I'm only thirty two.
  

 

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