Sunday, 22 January 2012

Old Ricky the Ratter.

Old Ricky was a terrier, as faithful as could be,
He'd curl up in a little ball comfy on my knee.
But outside that little terrier was a different boy,
no longer was he a lap dog, cos hunting was his joy.
His eyes would blaze his coat would stand,
the most terrifying terrier in the land.

Those bulging eyes, those twitching ears, a front paw off the ground.
Head stuck forward, shackles up; he knows they are around.
Ratty is hiding in long grass, Ricky knows he's there.
Like a cobra, Ricky strikes, the rat squeals out in fear.
That ones dead, more to kill; they scamper all around.
Ricky kills a few more rats before they go to ground.

Sometimes I'd strike out with my stick; just to give a hand,
Ricky and me, I'm sure you'll see,
were the best ratters in the land.
I sit alone no little dog curled up on my lap,
My stick is hanging on the door along with my old cap.

I miss Old Ricky, that little dog, as faithful as could be.
now he's buried in the ground beneath an Old Oak Tree.

   

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