I got a gift of butter, now
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Good butter it was claimed to be
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I dont think it was from a cow
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And if it was, it cowed me
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A beard was growing on the stuff
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A goatish beard without a doubt
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Ah. it was sickly, sour and rough
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With poison juices seeping out
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Ah, it was slick. ah, it was grey
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I dont think any goat produced it
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I had to face it every day
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Oh, how I wish I had refused it
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The salts a thing it never knew
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In fact Im sure they never met
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It sprouted spots of green and blue
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It made me ill. Im not right yet
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'Twas made of grease and wax and fat
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And substances too vile to utter
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You may be sure that after that
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Ive rather lost the taste for butter
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Butter
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Robin Williamson |