You say you want to fight me?
But think I'd rather not?
Then listen to the story
Of another guy I fought,
And maybe you'll appreciate--
I don't like blood and dirt
All smudgy on my fingertips
And dripping down my skirt.
A famous pirate captain
By the name of Bloody Bill
Was marching up the sidewalk
On the old Spadina Hill.
He had a sort of eye-patch
That was caked and flaked in blood.
And he ground his teeth together
And he spat out bloody crud.
He wore a bloody dagger
In his muddy, bloody belt,
And on his back I saw the track
Of thirty bloody welts,
And he slooshed his soggy boots
Till blood ran down the hill;
I figured, by the look of things,
It must be Bloody Bill.
And Bloody Bill was roaring drunk
And Bloody Bill was loud
And Bloody Bill was picking fights
With people in the crowd.
First I tried to walk around him
Like a common passer-by;
I'm quite a gentle person
And I wouldn't hurt a fly,
But Bloody Bill got wilder, like
A bully and a crook,
And by the way, I meant to say
He had a bloody hook.
He spied a frail old gentleman
And seized him by the feet
And shook him upside-down until
His change rolled in the street,
And then he pitched the gentleman
Across a grotty sewer,
And no one had the nerve to speak
Severely to the boor.
Now, I was out to buy some milk
To take home to my Mum,
But I could see I'd have to teach
Some manners to this bum
For pirates are a pleasure
In the safety of a book,
But meeting one is much less fun,
Especially with a hook.
And so I turned to face him,
With a sigh of utter boredom,
And flicked my little finger, and
Immediately floored him.
And holding back a yawn, I seized him
By his smelly snout,
And I flipped his nose, and flicked his toes,
And turned him inside out,
And wound him round a tree I found
And beat with might and main,
Till all the booze and tobacco juice
Had had a chance to drain.
(I know that bullies often come
And boss around a kid.
But that's the way I do things:
So that's the thing I did.)
I pelted him with melted cheese
And fourteen deviled eggs;
I tied spaghetti to his hair,
Lasagna to his legs,
And then, because I didn't like
the way he'd used his fists,
I danced upon his ears, until
He asked me to desist.
And when I turned him right-side-out
He scuttled down the hill
And never once looked back at me--
Just ran, did Bloody Bill.
And me, I washed my fingers
Of blood and scum and rum,
And bought a quart of two per cent
And took it home to Mum.
So though I'd love to fight you,
I am really very shy,
And leaving you all black and blue
Would likely make me cry.
I don't want to turn you inside-out,
Or wrap you round a tree:
Why don't you take your strong right thumb
And suck it peacefully?