The Caretaker Who Stole Christmas

You're a cruel one, Mr. Filch
You must not have a soul
You're as jolly as a jarvey
You're as thoughtful as a troll
Mr. Filch

You're a thin-bottomed cauldron
Filled with crusty green mold

You're an ogre, Mr. Filch
You don't know how to love
Your mind is decked with cobwebs
Yes, you're all of the above
Mr. Filch

I wouldn't poke you with a
Thirty-nine-and-a-half inch wand

You're a harsh one, Mr. Filch
You're the worst I've ever saw

You have all the mannerisms

Of a Mackled Malaclaw,
Mr. Filch

If I had to encounter one of you, without a doubt
I'd prefer the Mackled Malaclaw

You're a foul one, Mr. Filch
You are nothing but a schmuck
You're as bubbly as a banshee

In other words, "You suck!"
Mr. Filch

Three syllables I'd like to shout at your cat,
Though I'd probably cause discord,

Are "Cru-ci-o"

You're a meanie, Mr. Filch

You have chizpurfles in your smile
You're nothing but a nasty

You're sickeningly vile
Mr. Filch

Your heart is a piece of unidentifiable rubbish
Extracted from the very hub of the Forbidden forest

In a pile of Thestral dung
Oozing and goozing and gross

You offend me, Mr. Filch.
You're eyes are dark and cold
You're as welcoming and cuddly
As a nauseous Lethifold,
Mr. Filch

You're a giant batch of Hagrid's rock cakes

Stuffed with moldy dragon livers
Topped with Polyjuice sauce