In a farm somewhere in Poitou
A cock was in love with a clock
There's no accounting for taste
But the rooster had good taste, for that matter
For the clock was magnificent
And had such a sweet, sweet ticking
That Time was obsessed
With spending time with her
In a farm somewhere in Poitou
A cock was in love with a clock
From dusk till dawn,
And even at nighttime, like an owl
Love making him a night bird,
With cock-a-doodles in his throat
The cock would dream of his clock
In Poitou
In a farm somewhere in Poitou
A cock was in love with a clock
He would have them outraged chicken
Come home to roost and cackle
What of this rooster, this roaster,
This strange bird, this old bat,
That looks down upon us and never
Fowls around?
In a farm somewhere in Poitou
A cock was in love with a clock
Ladies, talk about a man,
There he is singing on his knees:
"Fair clock, I adore you
Ah! Let me woo you
You are my golden-hour chicken
My love."
In a farm somewhere in Poitou
A cock was in love with a clock
It is time we came to the end
Of this ridiculous cock tale
Of this cocky cock
Singing dusk at midnight,
"Is he running fast - or am I running late?"
The clock would wonder
Giving him the glad hand
With her pretty face,
Listening to her Don Juan
Eating out her hand
To imagine how he died
There's no need to be a seer
The clock rings for dinner time
Coq au vin
In a farm somewhere in Poitou
A cock was in love with a clock