Catfood rap
Well the moggy strolled in wi somehn clamped in its jaws.
It laid doon its present, an it waited for applause.
But the cratur wisni deid, an it strugglet ti its feet,
an A wis fair amazed when it stertit ti speak:
'Hiya, A'm a fairy, look, here's mna pointy hat,
an A'd like ti show A'm grateful that ye saved me fi the cat.
Well, A widni tell a lee, an A'm no on the fiddle,
A'll gie ye a reward if ye can guess ma riddle.
Can ye show me the ram, that disni hiv a fleece?
Can ye show me the chips, that were never fried in grease?
Tell me where are the windaes nae sun shines through?
And where is the moose, that never ever grew?'
Well, A gied the fairy answers, cos A wanted her prize.
Tellt her, 'Chips urny greasy till ye turn them inti fries.
A ram has nae fleece once the shepherd's yased his cutter.
An nae sun comes in the windae if ye jist close the shutter.
An if two wee mooses really love yin anither
well their wean is jist an egg till it grows in its mither.
So there ye hiv yer answers, an A think it aw fits
-- jist gie me ma reward an that's us quits.'
Well the fairy says, 'Son, nae reward for you the night,
ye think ye're awfy clever, but yer answer isni right.
The answer's a computer, whit d'ye say ti that?'
Well, A lifted up the fairy, an A fed her ti the cat.
Hard
Scallop-eared,
scar-cheeked,
upright as he can,
he peers out,
thinking, Hard
I am hard.
They come in the daytime now,
strut on his fence,
swagger, parade,
tails up like a single finger.
He makes small cries,
paws the sill, mumbles his jaws.
On poles they post memos:
All this – ours now.
Overwriting, his bladder is weak, the stretch
up the apple tree trunk too high,
the message he leaves
not the one he intended.
At night, in kindness, the door is shut.
He mouths pap, twitches his lip,
dreaming of glory, honour, sex,
adventures under the hedge.
Why you never see horses and sheep in the same field
The horse’s favourite food is sheep.
When ewes and lambs are fast asleep,
(this happens after counting men,
they never get past nine or ten)
and hungry horses want a snack ...
they’ll roll a fat sheep on its back.
(But won’t say neigh to one that’s thin)
When eating sheep, horses begin
by sucking out the eyes and brains.
They toss their heads, to keep their manes
from getting tangled in the fleeces,
Then rip the bodies into pieces,
and spit out all the crunchy bits.
They keep the wool, for making mitts.
So if at dusk you chance to see
sheep settled down quite happily,
nodding their heads in sleepy rhythm
and in that field, there’s horses with ‘em
-- those nags are dreaming of lamb chops!
Call 999, and fetch the cops.
For if you don’t, it’s tears and sorrow
-- there’ll just be horses there, tomorrow.
