Jefferson Ebbin,  from  Missouri,  you see,  was
stubborn as  ten dumb mules  come  Labor Day.
He wed spinster Florence West, from Virginia—
she wasn’t old, you see—just sharp as the brine,
preferred spinning yarns over seeking  the male
persuasion.

After  a honeymoon—that  lasted  just  one day,
they  packed  up  and  moved   to  Bodega  Bay,
where  they  bickered  and  squawked,  you see.
They  argued  and  fought—so  much,  you  see,
the  birds  started losing  their  feathers, or  so I
was told by a rotund fellow with a  double chin,
named Hitchcock, you see.

The  town  watched,  bemused  and bewildered,
after  a time,  they just  let them be,  you  see—
folks  started  calling  them  Mister and  Missus
Ebb and Flow.

Then one day, they just up and disappeared, you
see. The round fellow Alfred I mentioned, swore
it was the birds—said he had it on film, you see,
but he’s much too dark and scary. The town folk
reckon worse—they drowned at sea,  so you see,
that's how it ends—gone, just like the tide.