There’s goat on the hill

He does what he will

He’s a bit of a pill

But it’s chill

He’s a grumpy old bugger

Kinda mean motherfucker,

But for a goat, that’s kinda run of the mill

He’s a great mountaineer,

Has a long billy beard,

His eyes a wise yellow,

Pupils square

He eats near whatever

From tin cans to cheddar

Because he, as a goat, doesn’t care

Behind a fence made of wire

Tied up to tire

The old goat spent most of his days

But on a hot summer morning

A terrible fire

Engulfed the whole farm in a blaze

So he chewed through the rope

And ran from the flames

Climbed up in the old gnarled oak tree

He nimbly climbed out on one of the branches

Hopped over the fence, and was free

The silly old goat,

Running free through the woods

Stumbled over the the old whiskey still

He drank all the whiskey

So, feeling quite frisky,

He returned to the farm on the hill

The farmer was glad for the old goat’s return

But saw in his eyes murderous glee

With a snort, the billy goat lowered his head and butted him right in the knee

The farmer fell down on grass half burnt and brown

And the old goat ran away free