FLING IT HERE, FLING IT THERE



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Way down on the farm we are right up to date,

Farm mechanization's the byword of late.

For every task, there's a gadget to match,

But our new muck-spreader's the best of the batch.



Fling it here, Fling it there,

If you're standing by then you'll all get your share.



Now young Walter Hodgkins, he brought back a load

Of liquid manure from the farm up the road.

He hummed to himself as he drove up the street,

And his load also hummmmmmmmmmmed in the afternoon heat.



The muck-spreader had a mechanical fault,

And a bump in the road turned in on with a jolt.

An odorous spray of manure it let fly

Without fear or favor on all who passed by.



The cats and the dogs stank to high kingdom come,

And the kiddies, browned off, ran home screaming to Mum.

The trail of sheer havoc were terrible grim,

One open car were filled up to the brim.



The vicarage windows were all open wide,

When a generous helping descended inside.

The vicar, at table, intoned "Let us pray"

When manure from heaven came flying his way.



In garden, Miss Pringle was quite scandalized.

"Good gracious!" she cried, "I've been fertilized."

While the Methodist minister's teetotal wife

Were plastered for the very first time in her life.



And all of this time Walter trundled along,

He was quite unaware there was anything wrong,

Till a vision of woe flagged him down - what a sight!

A policeman all covered in . . . you've got it right.



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Printed in The Jolly Herring, copyright 1980 A. & C. Black Ltd.

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