We’re art, a drove of sheep without a shepherd,
and I am a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
So where are you being driven?
Nowhere! Then you must be a flock.
And what big teeth you don’t have, for a wolf.
No, we’re a hurtle or a trip
making eyes at you, baa none.
Why that’s so be-ewe-tiful,
I didn’t know ewe cared.
But how do you tell you sheep from the goats,
Come now, don’t pull the wool over my eyes.
Oh no, in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,
it’s all gone pear-sheeped.
We are really as gentle as lambs,
the sheep of things to come.
Don’t be hewemiliated.
I’d better hit the hay
for counting these sheep
it’s pasture my bedtime.
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