I don’t know any goat that’s 100% black or white or tan. Most of us are of mixed color, and proud of it. But I do know a few billies and nannies who are predominantly black and beautiful, and I never understood how they could work at that racist place called ‘Maggie’s Farm.’ You know, it was ME who encouraged Bob Dylan to write a song about that lyin’, slave-drivin’ Maggie. I told him, I said, “Bob, the tune will fit right into your catalog of social injustice songs.”
But here’s what REALLY sticks in my cud: why would a goat like Stanley — with his beautiful, nearly all-black coat — not only WORK for Maggie, but stick his nose up her butt?? I don’t think he’s truly happy. He told me once, he said, “Mo, sometimes I get up in the morning and cross my hoofs and pray for rain.” Mags doesn’t care about him. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she sold poor ‘ol Stan to ‘Donnie’s Butcher House’ once she’s finished using his landscape services. Look at him here, CAGED! Heed my words, capri-comrades: never follow or revere anyone who doesn’t give a damn about you.
Here are the “Maggie’s Farm” lyrics that Dylan wrote — only AFTER Columbia Records forced him to drop the goat references. “No one will get it,” they said. Well, POOP ON THEM, sez I.
Maggie’s Farm
I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more
No, I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more
Well, I wake in the morning
Fold my hands and pray for rain
I got a head full of ideas
That are drivin’ me insane
It’s a shame the way she makes me scrub the floor
I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more
I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s brother no more
No, I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s brother no more
Well, he hands you a nickel
He hands you a dime
He asks you with a grin
If you’re havin’ a good time
Then he fines you every time you slam the door
I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s brother no more
I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s pa no more
No, I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s pa no more
Well, he puts his cigar
Out in your face just for kicks
His bedroom window
It is made out of bricks
The National Guard stands around his door
Ah, I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s pa no more
I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s ma no more
No, I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s ma no more
Well, she talks to all the servants
About man and God and law
Everybody says
She’s the brains behind pa
She’s sixty-eight, but she says she’s twenty-four
I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s ma no more
I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more
No, I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more
Well, I try my best
To be just like I am
But everybody wants you
To be just like them
They sing while you slave and I just get bored
I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more
From the 1965 album “Bringing It All Back Home”