Nobody writes poetry quite like the Irish.
My grandfather was baptised in Killaloe and it was thought that perhaps the absence of a christening robe might have been due to this goat!
This poem is far better when sung, so I have included a video and the words, so you can then sing it to yourself.
Bert Lee and R.P. Weston, 1917
sillysocksonfriday 
One of my faves – there was also one about an old jalopy in a similar vein.
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