Sir Roger Moore raised a brow for he had heard the low
They're one year old an' now in bloom; ‘The Saint' has quite a bone

(Oh, young ‘uns are nice an' tight; bonk until dawn, he might)

His pork sword rides in calves tonight: he's in the cattle stall

(Oh, loves all his cows an' so wanted to jump their bones)

Side by side; with eight in sight; what a lark to have them all!

I hear, “This one's a wonder”; boon, for the heifer's aglow
He's matin' in a large kind of openin'; matin' with the beast on show

No dabble if the cow is old: he thinks that calves are best
He's dressed one in frilled underwear; today, he won't forget…no…no

(Oh, panties are his delight; schwing if they're nice an' tight)

His face, a frown: his cow is slack; too fast a pace: she's dead

(Oh, Roger will never cry; hopin' the next won't die)

The cow, he killed; he could be mad; he still has seven though

Oh well, the next to prong; his seed's for those which low
Tired out: on the floor, lies; waitin', for it sapped his flow

His todger's sore: cannot proceed with game of ‘shaft a calf'
His cries will wake the cattle stall but once his ride is back…ride on…ride on

(Oh, Roger can't raise a wood: can't roger any more)

His boner's gone: the ‘limp one' plight, for Roger's now so old

(Oh, needin' some help tonight: animal porno site!)

He's now at home an' caught online; the wife gives him some flak… and a smack

Now past the urge for shaftin'; the dead one's rump he'll fry
Remains will be kept in the freezer as meatballs, snags an' pies