The Song Of The Mischievous Dog
I slip from my collar at dusk,
And loosen the air in each lung -
I let a few notes travel up through my throat,
And roll from my slavering tongue.
I was brought up in Barking. Iíve crooned
Across London since I was a pup.
The Eastender owls are afraid of my growls,
And they shake when I wake them all up.
Iím a bounder when let off the leash,
And serenade roosters all night;
The old Cockney cocks cower down by the docks
While the cats out in Catford take fright.
My howl is in stereo, too,
When Iím running around on a roof:
It sounds pretty queer to a musical ear
Because thereís a warp in my woof.