The Bug Chronicles - A Field Guide To Creepy Crawlies

the spider he, with cotton in his bottom for the silken manufacture dressing flies he likes to capture in the evening wear for dinner oh the spider, what a spinner the wasp he, with a pin for a sting and the flailing arms he causes people run like wild horses from their summer barbecues oh the wasp, such afternoons the ant he, having friends in the thousands how the picnic blanket draws them sandwich, pie and tart do beckon then to mix things up in clothing oh the ant, and their invading the fly he, how rude upon your food flying round and keeping busy right by heads when watching TV but he sees you in slow motion oh the fly, to him you’re frozen the bee he, who sings to us with a buzz the insect entrepreneur his business of honey exporter the only bug we tolerate oh the bee, the peoples favourite the flea he, with his size evading eyes likes to subject you to itching then he jumps off like a coiled spring remains impressed about the plague oh the flea, and the ghosts they made the beetle he, so diverse and most numerous not to be confused though with John, Paul, George and Ringo his attire often shiny black oh the beetle, rolling scat