I got a gift of butter, now

Good butter it was claimed to be

I dont think it was from a cow

And if it was, it cowed me



A beard was growing on the stuff

A goatish beard without a doubt

Ah. it was sickly, sour and rough

With poison juices seeping out



Ah, it was slick. ah, it was grey

I dont think any goat produced it

I had to face it every day

Oh, how I wish I had refused it



The salts a thing it never knew

In fact Im sure they never met

It sprouted spots of green and blue

It made me ill. Im not right yet



'Twas made of grease and wax and fat

And substances too vile to utter

You may be sure that after that

Ive rather lost the taste for butter