Song of the Flea

A king there was once reigning,

Who had a goodly flea,

Him loved he without feigning,

As his own son were he!



His tailor then he summon’d,

The tailor to him goes;

Now measure me the youngster

For jerkin and for hose!



In satin and in velvet

Behold the younker dressed;

Bedizen’d o’er with ribbons,

A cross upon his breast.



Prime minister they made him,

He wore a star of state;

And all his poor relations

Were courtiers, rich and great.



The gentlemen and ladies

At court were sore distressed;

The queen and all her maidens

Were bitten by the pest,



And yet they dared not scratch them,

Or chase the fleas away.

If we are bit, we catch them

And crack them without delay.


...How the hell was Mussorgsky not thrown in jail for this?