In warfare it's always been "we" against "they", Depending which banner you claim. But one man sees conflict , As scenes in a play , And soldiers mere Pawns in his Game To him it don't matter Who loses or wins, To nobody's law he abides . He'll fight like a lion Beside you and then, When you've turned your head He's switched sides!! No one’s Master of Filch, No one’s faster than Filch, Nor is anyone as big a bastard as Filch He sees havoc as soil worth tilling, He’s no stranger to blackmail and bribe, And one day with his purse shy a shilling, He sold his dear son to an Indian tribe. No one tracks like Lord Filch. No one attacks like Lord Filch, No one shoots women square in their backs like Lord Filch. If you've need of the worse Put some coins in his purse, Gad wot a cad! Lord Filch! So be on your guard when the battle tide ebbs, And victory’s dance you attend. Tell all the good children “Beware of his webs”, Lest they take a foe for a friend, And woe be to you who heeds not this advice - When monuments mark your passed life, A frosty haired Filch with great tears in his eyes, Will be there to comfort your wife! No one dances like Filch, Or take chances like Filch, No one puts the young girlies in trances like Filch. He has a definite eye for the ladies, Can seduce with a devilish grin, They can’t see that his motives are shady, When he plays them a tune on his mad mandolin. No souls richer than Filch, Black as pitcher than Filch, Nor is any son more, Son of bitcher than Filch. By your graveside he’ll gloat, In his dirty brown coat, He’ll take all and he’ll leave you with zilch. For a buck or a pound, He would wear treason’s crown. Egad, what a cad! Lord Filch!