[Intro - Frantic Harpsichord and a Solemn Church Organ] [Verse 1] I’m standing at the pulpit, trying to read the Word But my vision’s getting blurry and my focus is blurred The village gave a gift for the community farm A pedigree Boer goat with a devilish charm He’s sitting in the front row, tied to a chair With a coat of pure silver and a nonchalant stare [Spoken - Neurotic Internal Monologue] (Oh Lord, forgive me. Why is he looking at me like that? Look at those rectangular pupils. They’re like horizontal letterboxes into my very soul. Is he judging my sermon? Or is he... flirting? No, Timothy, stop it. He’s a ruminant. A cloven-hoofed beast of the field. But look at the way he chews that hymn book. It’s so... deliberate. So rhythmic. Get a grip, man. You’re a man of the cloth, not a man of the... mohair.) [Pre-Chorus] (He’s the scapegoat for your secret desires) (The cloven-hoofed fuel for your internal fires) [Chorus] Oh, Barnaby the goat is a trial for my soul I’m losing my dignity and all self-control I’m imagining scenarios in the vicarage shed That would turn the Ten Commandments a vibrant shade of red It’s a pastoral passion, a clerical sin God help the state that my psyche is in [Verse 2] I’m trying to focus on the loaves and the fish But I’m picturing a far more mammalian dish We’re frolicking together in the tall meadow grass While the Bishop looks on through his magnifying glass [Spoken - Hysterical Internal Monologue] (Stop! Cease! Desist! I’m thinking about candlelit dinners featuring nothing but high-quality hay. I’m imagining us sharing a single piece of gorse like the scene in Lady and the Tramp. I’ve started wondering if I can buy a clerical collar in a size Small-Goat. Does the Bible mention anything about inter-species ballroom dancing? I need a cold shower. Or an exorcism. Or a very large gin.) [Bridge] [Dramatic Organ Swell - Frantic Staccato Violin] I’ve Googled the laws of the United Kingdom To see if a goat can be granted his freedom To live as my curate, to assist with the wine To be the Pan to my Priest, so rugged and fine The bells are all ringing, they’re clanging in G As the goat starts to wink from the front row at me [Chorus] Oh, Barnaby the goat is a trial for my soul I’m losing my dignity and all self-control I’m imagining scenarios in the vicarage shed That would turn the Ten Commandments a vibrant shade of red It’s a pastoral passion, a clerical sin God help the state that my psyche is in [Outro] [Fading Organ - Sound of a Goat Bleating Rhythmically] I think I need to move to a parish with only cats. Or perhaps just fish. Fish don't have such... expressive ears. (Deliver us from evil) (And especially from Barnaby) (Amen) [Final Harpsichord Pluck] [End]
