Cow-cat, Cow-cat ,
You know where it’s at, man.
A real coolio Daddy cat,
No bread and Honey, that would be funny,
You aint no fat cat
Out late at night life is black and white
like your fur, hear you purr, the lady cats think
you’re so cool you’re Fresian.
But what are you at, cat?
Don’t you hear the car coming ?
Soft rubber Pirelli tyres humming
You’d better scat, this
Driver is a speedy twat,
not doing his Honda Civic duty,
thinks his blinged-out ride’s a beauty,
too late –SPLAT!
Now you are flat,
like a pancake or,
a furry Cow-cat pat,
Holy cow, cat ,you
were from where it’s at
and without you,
it just aint there any more,
Drat!
11 comments:
Aaaah! That's definitely an ex-cat.
nice - dead pretty
Thanks Heather,least it wasn't a parrot :)
Thanks MAB , pretty dead too!
poor cowlico!
Cowlico, cowlico,
where did you go
when you died
people cried out
'Wherefor art thou,
cowlico?'
Tanx Susan.
yes. It is the greatest poem ever written.
Wait til postman pat gets that speedy twat. It will be more than cow named cat going splat.
It's official so whiskeybotlebot, one for the canon.
Posseman Pat is indeed the mother of all retributors, we have been warned. Mind yer letterboxes folks.
Indeed, a poem so divinely fine
devoted to this former feline.
In honor of such poetic contribution
I tip my glass in celebratory execution!
Hey Jeanne
that is felineanne fine
those words of purrtry
hairball remedies
to lifes dis-ease.
and also not only but thither, hither and yon furthermore to twit twoo!!!!!!!$%&*@#~
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