A long, long time ago,
I can still remember...
Mary's little lamb would make me itchy
And I knew if I had my chance
That on that wool rug, I could dance
And maybe, I would feel not quite so bi***y
When Christmas came, things got no better
My aunt gave me a woolen sweater
Bad thoughts from my stocking
Of sheep, all naked flocking
I can't remember if I cried
When I thought about their barren hide
But something touched me deep inside
The day my lost lamb died

So my, my, lonely shepherd am I
Drove my flock out to the pasture, where a lamb caught my eye
And this good ol' boy is pullin' down at his fly
Singin', "This'll be the day that I try"
"This'll be the day for some thigh"

Do you pine for ovine love
And do you have face in bod thereof?
Are you liable to play so?
Do you believe in flockin' roll?
Can ewes encave your immortal pole? [1]
And can a sheep-mate make romance zeal flow?
Well, she tells friends, "I'm in love with him"
And she knows I love her woolly quim
It's sheep, not cows, I choose
Man, I dig their bleating, not "moo"s!
I don't want girl, squirrel, moose, goose, mouse or duck
She's the only "dear" this stag-horned roe will "buck"
No other clam that I would shuck
Until my poor lamb died

I started singin',
"My, my, lonely shepherd am I"
Rub mint jelly on her belly if the well-y is dry
And good ol' girl, there'll be an endless supply
And singin', "This'll be the day to be spry"
"This is not the day to be shy"

Now, for ten years, I've been on my own
And wool grows thick on a lady's throne
But that's not how it used to be
When my lovely lamb had just turned thirteen
Had a fleece of finest gabardine
Soft as silk, of purest pedigree
Oh, and while the lamb is grazing ground
The shepherd mounts the matted mound
All other girls I've spurned
To lamb, al-ways returned
And while linen sheets can leave red marks
Lamb's lanolin lubes lecher's larks
And sheep-tang urges man to spark
Until my poor lamb died

I was singin',
"My, my, lonely shepherd am I"
Tried to hammer little lamb-er, catch her here in the rye
And flirting sheep were bleating, "Go for it, guy"
And bleating, "It's a splurge you cannot deny"
"It's a merge she'll surely supply"

Helter, skelter, sheep in summer swelter
So shepherd scrounges some shady shelter
A lot of trees, and find them fast.....
The flock all graze on the grass
While the shepherd feels for some furry a**
Gets his lambkin on the sidelines, 'lone at last
And Miss Mary's lamb was sweet perfume
While privates splayed to arching poon
Unveiled his massive lance
Oh, but he never got the chance
When the shepherd tried to cop a feel
The mangy band became a meal
Lamb chop and all were turned to veal
The day my poor lamb died

I started singin',
"My, my, lonely shepherd am I"
Drove my flock out to the pasture on the Fourth of July
With flag unfurled, and pointin' right at the sky
And wavin' patriotic pole up so high
Wave that flag at all who pass by

And there they were all in one place
A flock of sheep with mangy face
With rawhide raw from front to end
So come on, sheep be nimble, sheep be clipped
Sheep flock, into de-manging, dipped
'Cause mange dip is the rancher's only friend
And as I watched them on that range
My hands were clenched in fists at mange
No rancher from that dell
Could stand such stinky smell
And as the flock was fleeced in fearful plight
To bleach out their hides of beastly blight
I saw cotton farmers laugh with spite
The day my poor lamb died

I was singin',
"My, my, lonely shepherd am I"
Pulled the lamb in for some rammin', but my plans went awry
And poor ol' boy is left without a reply
Singin', "This is evil I must decry"
"This is evil I must defy"

I met a sheep who sang the blues
So I asked her for some happy ewes
But she said "baah" and turned away
So I went down to the Ranch Must-ang
To pull, till full of wool poon-tang
But the man there said the ewe's sick; wouldn't play
And on the range, the cowboys beamed
The shepherds tried: the fence knot-holes, reamed
No lambskin sheath to poke in
Nor furry coat to cloak in
And the sheep that I admire best
Bo Peep's, Miss Mary's, and all the rest
Became the wool for some guy's vest
The day the ewe, sick, died

And I was singing'
"My, my, lonely shepherd am I"
Drove my flock out to the pasture, where I sit here and sigh
And good ol' boys are laughin' hard as I cry
Sobbing, "Miss her till the day that I die"
"Miss her till the day that I die"

I was singin'
"Fly, fly, sheep, to Heaven up high"
Though He leads them by still waters, still I sit and ask "Why?"
In pastures green, though He maketh them lie,
In the shadow of this valley I cry!



[1] Trivia for fans of the OS: Although the usual transcription of this OS line is "Can music save your mortal soul...", IMHO, the correct line is "Can music save your IMmortal soul...", with "im" being elided (slurred over) by McLean due to pacing considerations. The song makes it clear that McClean had a Catholic upbringing (... "the three men I admire most: The Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost... ), and it is a fundamental tenet of Catholicism that the soul is immortal: Catechism of the Catholic Church, Part One, Section 2, Chapter 1, Article 1, Paragraph 6, Part II, line 366: "The Church teaches that every spiritual soul is ...immortal: it does not perish when it separates from the body at death, and it will be reunited with the body at the final Resurrection."

Therefore, the parody followed with "immortal pole".