The sheep of Marsden

We are the sheep of Marsden and to wander is our game,
Through t’ gaps in farmers’ fence and down t’ country lane,
We stop to nibble at the verge and drivers we do goad,
We are the sheep of Marsden and we own the bloody road.

We are the sheep of Marsden and we stroll down t’ village,
Wander through your gardens on insatiable ovine, pillage,
Beware prize winning marrow, take care your verdant bloom,
We are the sheep of Marsden and we herald floral doom.

We are the sheep of Marsden and we put the dogs to shame,
We have no mind for where we go and suffer no ones blame,
No one with a plastic bag to follow us around,
We are the sheep of Marsden and we leave it on the ground.

We are the sheep of Marsden and our likeness you can see,
On coasters , mugs or baby’s bib, on towels just for tea,
And once a year our likeness is everywhere to see,
For we are the sheep of Marsden and we’re jazz as jazz can be.