Bobby the Billy Goat

Here comes Bobby the Billy Goat

He walks these parts without his coat

Doesn’t bother with spit shined shoes

Cavalier Cad here to amuse

He likes to pluck winsome beavers

Sports a grin for Arab weavers

But mostly he is on his way

The four hoofed devil cannot stay

He scares the soft pink petticoats

Lingers too near the mildewed moats

Slurps up the virgin lily pads

Spits out the hymens and the gnads

O how the girls shiver and cry

When he leaves them plucked in the rye

Tells them all he’s the Pharaoh’s son

Crossbred with Attila the Hun

A dash of Moses in his teeth

He’s known to lick the Paschal wreath

The rise and fall of ancient Rome

Now no more than his goat horned heaume

So much grandeur perched on a snout

For the Legions lost in a rout

Once Caesar added cream to tea

Now the goat marks his path with pee

The irony lost and buried

When with Satan past is married

The progeny a dapper goat

Bobby the Bill without his coat

Published by Michael Sean Erickson

I write, act, and produce films in Los Angeles. Everything else is conjecture.

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