If you want to quell the plight us
Birds are stuck in, in the slightest
Please place your vote with plovers on the shore

Our feet in mud and waves and spray
We know our place, in Bristol Bay
And make our way back as we’ve done before

Our friends, the emp’rors, yellow faced
Say here is where just they were placed
Yet surely you know better, we implore

It’s clear they haven’t traveled far
They lack refinement-exemplar
WE have the Golden feathers you adore

The choice, once muddy as a goose,
Is easy: we have broken loose
Bird of the Year is plover, to the core