The Legend of Billy McCread March 18, 2008

 

You’ll remember the story of Jake

Ah, yes, that was incredibly sad

And I wonder what it will now take

For you all to denounce me as mad

 

I assure you my stories are true

And I beg you to listen, take heed

For this next tale will terrify you

It’s the legend of Billy McCread

 

Now Billy was an evil lad

His grim demise will make you glad

Once you know how it occurred

You’ll see his death was well deserved.

How nasty is a boy who pulls

The heads from ants, the tails of bulls?

How wicked is the brat who tears

The legs from spiders, ears from hares?

Each creature on his parents’ farm

Had suffered varied kinds of harm

All animals had cause to fear

The day on which he would appear

On Sundays he’d throw stones at cows

On Mondays he’d torment the sows

On Tuesdays he’d pour paint on lambs

On Wednesdays he’d stick pins in rams

On Thursdays he’d tattoo the dogs

On Fridays he liked salting frogs

On Saturdays he’d mock the goats

And inbetween set fire to stoats

He really was an awful youth

Now hear me tell the dreadful truth

Of how he met his gruesome fate

He learned his lesson far too late

In time his victims made a pact

Together, soon, in league they’d act

To put an end to Billy’s schemes

To realise their lovely dreams

Of life without the awful boy

Of times of peace, of days of joy

And so, one night, as Billy slept

The beasts into his bedroom crept

Then with their teeth, horns, hooves and claws

They bit and stamped and chomped and gored

‘til Billy was a gooey pile

Of bones and flesh and blood so vile

A very nasty end indeed

For wicked little Bill McCread

 

The moral, as you would expect

Is “treat all beasts with due respect”

 Paul Hughes 2008