From last summer until early fall,
I spent most every waking hour in the stall.
She was fine and snowy white,
And "baaa" was her plaintive cry.
I had by then moved beyond the sty.

I wish we could have had a private shed.
I told them that I was getting her fed.
It is true, initially,
That I acted sheepishly
She gave me her love, but reluctantly.
Whiskers on her bussed mop.
I herded her right in from the barnyard.
I found about ewe.

Rumors follow everywhere I go;
I've heard my sobriquet is "Little Bo."
I don't care. When I see her pout,
With that soft and wooly snout,
I hold that mane and I know what love's about.
Whiskers on her bussed mop.
I herded her right in from the barnyard.
I found about ewe.

I sleep tight; she serves as my pillow.
While I am dozing, she is grazing oats.
And I sit there and drink a stout,
As I comb the tangles out.
My girlfriend's ovine, and I can't do without.
Whiskers on her bussed mop.
I herded her right in from the barnyard.
I found about ewe.