The other night I had this dream I was just somebody's fantasy. So I went to a soothsayer, very next day To see what kind of sooth he would say. He said it was a bad dream Wouldn't worry about it, though... Who'd have enough imagination to dream up a dragon.
Well, bad dreams tend to make me feel Like it's time to find another meal, So I set off walking down the street Just looking for a bite to eat. Figured a virgin or two would go down nicely. Getting a little hard to find, though. Don't seem to get as big as they used to.
Now, about five miles down the road Was a donkey with a heavy load. Rider and donkey both looked old, But as I passed them I smelled gold. You know what gold does to a dragon?
The donkey tasted good enough But the rider looked a little tough. Little old guy all covered with dirt With a bar of gold hid under his shirt. Little bag of jewels, too. Toasted him and served him with melted gold sauce And some garnets for a garnish.
Well, I wandered back the way he'd come To find the mine that loot came from, And thinking of all the gold I'd get I walked straight into a dragon net.
(instrumental break)
Well, I couldn't run and I couldn't fly, And they didn't get close enough to fry. Then out came a bloke all dressed in red Who looked me over and then he said: Be upstanding in court! The accused will now hear the charges against him... Went on for forty-five minutes. Something about dragon on the public highway, And creating a delicacy out of a miner.
They went on talking all day long While I sat there writing my funeral song. When the judge said ``Guilty!'' I thought I was dead. Then, ``Fifty years to life!'' he said. Stuck me here in this monastery roasting pigs. Not a virgin around for fifty miles. Except some of the pigs, of course. Could be worse.
So now you've heard my tale of woe: I'm stuck here fifty years or so, But it's not as bad as it might seem-- The monks and me have a little scheme. You see, they're putting in a convent right next door, And we figure we'll split the virgins fifty-fifty.
The perpetrator wishes to acknowledge (in order): that fellow Anon, for the Talking Blues; Woodie Guthrie and Bob Dylan (for the *BAD* dream); W. C. Fields, for his definition of a virgin; a certain television series; Arlo Guthrie's forty-five minutes; and the Catholic Church.
http://thestarport.com/Steve_Savitzky/Songs/t-dragon.html
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