Trevor was a fisherman, he made a fair few quid.
But wherever Trevor cast his nets, all Trevor caught was squid.

So many dishes Trevor's wife would cook for them to try,
From Mexican to Portuguese, from Indian to Thai.

When they felt Italiano, they would slurp squid bolognese,
And when they fancied salad, it was squid with mayonnaise.

Wok stir fried and pickled squid; for Sunday lunch, squid roast,
Hot deep fried and griddled squid; for breakfast, squid on toast.

Till Mrs Trevor said at last, "With squid I'm all encumbered.
Please save me, Trevor, from these squid, before we're both outnumbered."

"I've got squid in all me cupboards, in the wardrobe, on me ledges,
They're stacked up on the table, and the rack I use for veggies."

"There's sixteen squid sat in the sink, I've got squid on the brain,
Their tentacles went down the plug, and now they've blocked the drain."

"The garden shed is packed with squid, the bath is piled up too,
It's getting to me, Trevor; tell me - what'cha gonna do?"

"There, there my dear, don't get upset. Relax on the settee.
Let's move this mound of squid aside, so you can watch TV."

"You see, my love, I love my squid above all other fishes.
I could eat them by the squillion, 'cos they're simply squidalicious."

"But since I see you're so distressed, reluctantly I'm willing
to sell McDonalds half my squid, to try as burger filling."