Cow
Aw. go write your tinklin' jingle, an' your pretty phrases mingle,
For the namby-pamby girl, all fluffy frill an' shinin' silk.
That's the sort to bring you trouble when you tries 'em in the double.
Blow your beauty! Wot's the matter with the maiden 'oo can milk?
Them there rhymers of the wattle! An' the bardlet of the bottle—
'Im that sings of sparklin' wine, an' does a perish for the beer;
An' your slap-dash 'orsey poet! Why, if you blokes only know it,
You 'ave missed the only subject fit to rhyme about down 'ere.
An' although I ain't a poet with the bays upon my brow,
I consider that it's up to me to sing about The Cow.
Cow, Cow—
(Though it ain't a pretty row.
It's a word that 'ipnotises me; I couldn't tell you how.)
Though I ain't a gifted rhymer,
Nor a blamed Parnassus climber,
I'm inspired to sing a time er two about the Blessed Cow.
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