Mary had a disgruntled little lamb,
Whose fleece was greasy and matted
And everywhere that Mary went,
It rudely belched and farted.
It followed her to the liquor store,
a raincloud hung over its head.
Then found the cheapest lemon gin
That would keep their sick livers fed.
Now, Mary didn’t have any money,
But the crusty lamb didn’t blink.
It drew a stolen rainbow beretta
And they left the store with their drink.
They roasted the Bluebird of Happiness
On a spit over a rusty oil drum
While the Pigeon of Discontent
Laughed and passed his pint of rum.
Despair and destruction follows them.
If you come across them, you’d best scram.
Roaming the Kingdom’s alleys and gutters,
Mary and her disgruntled little lamb
NOTE: This poem is featured in the adult colouring book, Feral Fairy Tales.