For all of you who are knee deep in sheep, lambs, straw, Lamlac, spray marker and dosing guns and running on creme eggs and relentless!
Sheep are suicidal,
Simply born to die,
In the most awkward places,
Legs pointing to the sky,
As lambs, they’ll drown in buckets,
Or get suffocated by their mum,
You’ll catch it drawing dying breaths,
As you haul the twat up off her bum,
The sickly ones are living,
The healthy ones drop dead,
There’s suddenly an outbreak,
Of watery mouth throughout the shed,
The lambers have escaped,
And got into the feed store,
So you are merrily sprinkling,
Bicarb back and fore,
There’s far too many triplets,
The pet pen’s fit to burst,
And balling hungry lambies,
Haunt your nightmares first,
The vets have got no rubber rings,
Your wellies have sprung a leak,
There’s a ewe who’s pinching everything,
And you’ve had 6hrs sleep this week,
The townie cousin’s have just appeared,
They really want to help you see,
In their new and shiny boilersuits,
And they’re going to stay for tea,
Lambing is a tricky time,
And wee things send you wrong,
So just hold on tight to your wits,
Thank fudge the season isn’t long!
©JB