Bloody Bill

    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？