Well Old MacDonald has a farm,

He can rake in the dough, with a hoe on each arm,

He’s got an artichoke heart, and some weathered vanes,

He’s got two ears of corn, and a maize of brains.

And some nights he gets plowed, when he feels that moon shine,

While sittin’ on his ass – the four-legged kind.

Well - his head full of cabbage is prayin’ for peas,

He’s got two bowed legs, with two ponies,

He believes in Gourd, and he digs fun-guys,

He’s got 20-10-20, in his fertile eyes.

He’s got a stable home, and he’s got that free rein,

He’s got shrooms in the house, and he loves his Mary Jane.

Well he can fiddle like a pro, with his contraband,

He can raisin that bow, he can take a farm stand,

He plays the old Orange Blossom and the Chicken Reel well,

He can sing up a storm, like a ringin’ the bell.

And the Farmers’ Almanac, is his favorite read,

When he’s rockin’ to that grass, or he’s rollin’ that weed.

Well, he rotates craps, like a nincompoop,

He’s got all kinds of leaks, that don’t turnip in his soup,

He’s got a compost pile, squashed next to his well,

Lettuce just say, he’s a Farmer in the Smell,

He can cut that cheese at will, when he’s churning the butter,

He drinks his milk, from one fridge or the udder.

His cheeks get rosy, when he plants tulips,

And the sheep do mosey, when he wiggles those hips,

With an apple a day, he’s a hard-core dude,

He shoots the bull with the cows, when they’re in a good mood.

With all his herbs, he can “Go Mango,”

Ounce by ounce, row by row,

One thing that’s engrained, is a song that we all know,

Old MacDonald has a farm, EE-I-EE-I-O.