Hit hay with little lickerish lady;
Our moanin' shocked my tribe Scandinavi-
an; I'm troll, caught in field with gnome.

They ain't down with such shenanigans--
Rather see me shag lech'rous leprechauns.
I'm a troll, caught in field with gnome.

Well, I was caught in thrall and boffin'.
"That's so sick!: they screeched. I softened.
"You're a troll, coppin' feel on gnome!!"

They ain't down with such shenanigans,
"But," I said, "her name's Maggie Branigan,
From that old sod--spud fields are sown."

So they decoupled me from my baby,
Said, "She don't look like no Gaelic lady.
There, they're so sotted, they can't roam.

"She ain't showin' inebriation
And appears adept at fornication,
As if old Roman spiel ain't known.

"'cause she ain't dogma-thralled, we're scoffin'
At the excuse that you're off'rin',
We ain't sold; Gnostic seems your gnome."

They hand down me an ultimatum:
"Pack your condoms and your petrolatum
And go stroll, contritely, back home."

So I'm shufflin' away from my baby,
Feelin' Grimm, but knowin' what awaits me:
It's that old floggin' feel, back honed.

"You'd better go and show contrition
For goin' for interspecies fishin',
Your troll pole, caught in creel of gnome!!"