It sucks being a Muggle,
not being able to fly around on a broomstick,
or get into all sorts of Wizarding trouble.
Or even enjoy odd flavoured jelly beans, like “Starstruck Moon-lick”.
I’ll never meet Hermione Granger,
without alerting her “stranger danger”.
Harry and Ron and all those lads,
I’m nothing to them, it’s tragic!
Not having a wand to hold in my hand,
and by wand, I mean the non-penis variety,
the type of wand that shoots brilliant white magic,
not of the penis variety, again, not of the penis variety.
A magical train ride I’ll never experience,
no cloak of invisibility, the best I’ll manage, a camouflaged tent!
Quidditch? Ha! Not for me, the desperate Muggle, hiding in the green and brown tepee.
I’ll never see Hogwarts, and it’s floating ceiling candles,
I’ll never meet Neville Longbottom, or touch his glorious love-handles.
Professor Snape seems like a cool cat,
with his black hair, black cloak and everything black and all of that!
I bet he’s a nice guy deep, deep down,
get a few drinks in him and he’s the dinner party clown!
That flying blue car would’ve been nice,
Until the battery goes flat, then suddenly, it’s “Oh Christ!”
But I’m sure it has a magical battery,
well, that’s my attempt at automotive flattery.
Dobby the house elf would be a lovely friend,
easy to feed and clothe and defend.
Magical powers in a friend is always a handy thingy,
he’d turn my tennis ball tubes into fresh, crispy Pringles!
Anyway, I’m a Muggle, and I wish I wasn’t,
And now, for me, it’s back to the fantasy closet!
In there I’m free to imagine everything,
Aw, but there my doorbell goes, “Ding ding, ding ding”.