Little Ball of Yarn (3)
It was in the month of June, all the roses were in bloom
I chanced to take a stroll around the farm;
And a maiden fair to see, came a-walking up to me,
Said, "Would you like to wind my little ball of yarn?"
Ball of yarn, ball of yarn
Would you like to wind my little ball of yarn?
Ball of yarn, ball of yarn
Would you like to wind my little ball of yarn?
Well, I gave her my consent, and behind the barn we went
I promised her that I would do no harm;
Then she pulled up her clothes, and I pulled out my hose
And then I wound her little ball of yarn.
Ball of yarn, ball of yarn
And then I wound her little ball of yarn?
Ball of yarn, ball of yarn
And then I wound her little ball of yarn?
It was nine months after that, in a poolroom where I sat
That I felt a heavy hand upon my arm;
And a gentleman in blue said, "Young man, we're after you
You're the father of an eight-pound ball of yarn."
Ball of yarn, ball of yarn
You're the father of an eight-pound ball of yarn
Ball of yarn, ball of yarn
You're the father of an eight-pound ball of yarn
In my prison cell I sit, with my fingers full of shit
And the shadow of my cock upon the wall;
And the women, as they pass, all shove peanuts up my ass
While the little mice play ping-pong with my balls.
From a mis-spent youth in Brooklyn, ca. 1943. The last verse,
while it may not really fit, was considered a killer in those
days, at least. RG
RG
Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!