It gets my goat to hear you lie.
       We’ve hidden no black sheep.
       So hold your horses, cut the corn.
       Don’t make another peep.

       It really goes against the grain,
       No honey’s in your comb.
       Don’t milk that tale for all it’s worth
       Until the cows come home.

       I know you suffer growing pains.
       That story you produced
       Will fence you in, for lies are sure
       To come back home to roost.

       You couldn’t hit the broadest side
       Of any barn that way.
       Don’t count your chickens till they’re hatched.
       Go home and hit the hay.

       You’re full of beans, so please recall
       You reap just what you sow.
       A good egg you should try to be.
                       E I E I O