Once upon a night-flight dreary, I sat buckled-in and weary
Watching safety demonstrations, pointing out the exit door
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
Something on my shoe, a-rapping - rapping till my toes were sore
'Tis some child's play, I muttered, just one more thing to ignore
Only this, and nothing more.

Ah, distinctly I remember wistful longing to dismember
Every little childish member, strewn and bloody cross the floor
Chance of rest became remoter, did I sleep? Not one iota
Should have flown in a Dakota, slept amidst the engine's roar
Instead trapped in an airliner, unable to nap or snore
Childish games that I abhor

For the brash, annoying child, left by parents to run wild
Left my peace and calm defiled, till I ached for blood and gore
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I sat repeating
'Tis some childish prank that's fleeting, passing that I can ignore
Just some childish prank so fleeting, passing that I can ignore
Only that, and nothing more,'

Presently the imp grew bolder; desecrating his cup-holder
Verily, I felt much older, older than I had before
How I so longed to be napping, but the kid's incessant yapping
And his smell, like he'd been crapping, crapping o'er the aisle floor
Everywhere he'd leave behind him, trails of faecal-scented spoor
More than this? Oh yes, there's more

Thinking that I may be molli- fied by something from the trolley
(Though it costs a lot of lolly, EasyJet snacks cost much more)
But my mealtime was broken by that child from Hoboken
How I thought he must be jokin', fingers dipped in my coleslaw
This I thought was beyond joking, dirty mitts in my coleslaw
Icky, yucky, dirty paw

I continued to eat, flustered, when the heartless little bustard
Dropped something into my custard, what it was I was not sure
Though the colour was like custard, I deduced that it was mustard
One taste and I was disgusted, nearly retching on the floor
I will get that little bustard, offspring of the Devil, more
Son of misbegotten whore

In my rage I started drinking, started plotting, scheming, thinking
How to get that little stinking creature and give him what for
Knew I'd get that little rotter, though my temper it was not a
Pleasant one, for I had got a feeling that this now meant war
Yes, the battle shortly would be joinèd... oh, yes this means war
Thought, and sat, and nothing more.

Wondered whether he'd recoil at his head being flushed down the toilet
Revenge is sweet - I mustn't spoil it, spoil it by not being sure
Thought that maybe t'would be better to continue my vendetta
If only I could find and get a double-barreled tu-welve bore
But they never seem to have them in a scheduled in-flight store
I was raving... nevermore

But the kid, he wouldn't let me sit and plan how I would get me
Own back on the little pest, he came and pestered me once more
For the little blighter had a water-pistol - I grew madder
Knew that I would get that lad a-s soon as I'd dried what I wore
But as I walked down the aisle, leaving puddles on the floor
Kept on raving... never more

Under my breath, I was muttering, others heard what I was uttering
Vengeful outbursts that were stuttering, pouring from my open maw
My demeanour more than manic left them running in a panic
As I raved in terms Germanic "scheiss" and more quotes from Nils Bohr
Ich werde der verdammter Kind werfen aus die Flugzeugstür
Ranting, raving "Nevermore."

Startled by my words so vile it turns out someone told the pilot
As we were a mile or two from Charles de Gaulle aéroport
Passengers were all demanding for an emergency landing
Such a great misunderstanding of my irate demeanour
I would NEVER be so violent, of that I can you assure
Violence? Me? Nevermore.

Soon thereafter and we landed: orders were not countermanded
In the airfield's corner stranded - stranded waiting, but what for?
On Parisian concrete waiting, in a manner enervating
Hardly, though, anticipating somebody had called the law
Radio'd for gendarmerie, somebody had called the law
And that sure stuck in my craw

Now I sit in solitary wishing that at least they'd hurry
Am I bored? Oh, yes sir, very - nowt to do here, such a bore
For it was the court's decision, once the judge had sat and risen,
For to send me off to prison, locked behind an iron door
Left me fatefully wondering, wondering what is in store
Shall I get out? Nevermore

So, dear reader, here's the deal, for this story's true and real:
I'm stuck here, pending appeal, I'm stuck here for ever more
They think I'm like all hijackers: murderous and wholly crackers
But they've got me by the knackers, in a grip I can't ignore
And if e'er I meet that child - I will break his bloody jaw
Wish that I'd done that before