A lion, name of Brian, was advised one Friday,
some knight whose name was much the same
had claimed to be his match;
he left his pride a-hunting, and advised he’d be confronting
any warrior or furrier who cared to cross his patch.
“I’m the real lion!” (roar, growl!)
“I’m the real lion!” (snarl, roar!)
“I’m the real lion, so show me Sir Brian,
and then we can settle the score!”
The lion crossed the plains, and every creature fled him;
they ran away in singles, and in pairs,
and herds, and flocks;
they had heard of Brian’s boasting, and preferred to leave him roasting
in the sun that baked all day,
till he’d regret his shaggy locks.
“I am a lion!” (roar, ROAR!)
“I am a LION!” (roar, GROWL!)
“I’m a real lion, and as for Sir Brian,
as soon as he sees me, he’ll howl!”
The lion made his way across a plain of reindeer,
then wondered what they were,
for he was clearly not at home;
he travelled, though with trouble,
till his mane was naught but stubble,
and his flanks were hung so lank
that he no longer cared to roam.
“Where is Sir Brian?” (growl, groan)
“Where is Sir Brian?” (groan, sigh)
“Where is Sir Brian? To fight with this lion,
turn up, or I might as well die!”
Now lions hunt in packs, and only lionesses
have got the speed to catch up
with their fast and flighty prey.
The lions keep on roaring,
and their mates, although adoring,
know it’s them that do the work,
and catch the food, while lions play.
“Bother Sir Brian - I’m cold!
Beggar Sir Brian – I’ve tried.
A lion alone can’t catch flesh, hide or bone;
I’ll starve if I don’t find my pride.”
Sir Brian was a scholar at a zoo in Zurich;
he heard a silly lion crossed the great long lands;
he sought him with a ‘chopper’,
and then found he’d come a cropper,
so he shot him with a dart,
and then he fed him with his hands.
“You’re a real lion? Well, well!
I’m called Sir Brian! Dear, dear;
if you’re a real lion, then I’m Paraguayan!
We never get lions round here!”
Sir Brian got a cage, and had the lion laid there;
he filled him up with vitamins, and fussed about his mane;
in a plane he flew beside him to a pride he could reside in,
and the lion thought the best of it, and never left again.
“A knight called Sir Brian? How nice!
A knight called Sir Brian? Well, well!
A knight called Sir Brian’s as bold as a lion?
Well maybe he is; who can tell?”