Dat 'old white magic On a winter's night it's nice to sleep wrapped in the limbs of a lusty sheep : to huddle in close when the North wind blows, to delight in the touch of a hairy wet nose, to feel the caress of wool on your skin and think of the novel position you're in. The ecstasy swamps you in waves without end as you fondle the parts of your furry white friend. When winter's over I love Spring just as much, when shearing time reveals to your touch the heavenly parts that find their release as eager young hands cut of the fleece, With eyes open wide the better to see the rampant beast - naked and free which leaps from the fold and frolicks around 'Till grabbed by the tail and raped on the ground. Randy young yokels rush up and undress as terrified ewes bleat in distress and cower in sheds and quake one and all while facing the shepherds with bums to the wall. 'Till grabbed by the horns and dragged to the hay never released for many a day. As pink and while bodies pound in a pile all sweaty and sticky and wooly and vile. Boys of the village lie exhausted and spent their working parts all blistered and bent. But now the sheep have a new and bestial twist which means that their lovers are not yet dismissed. The passionate ewes incite an uprising whose length and duration is somewhat surprising, considering the action their members have seen without modern aids such as vaseline. When sheepin' the skill that's required, it's said is to avoid the randiest quadruped for your own safety stick to the rules and you'll be all right : Take only a bride that's dressed in white.