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