this poem was written to be sung to the tune of the real ol’ mountain dew, which you can hear here:
at the end of me paws there’s a neat row of claws
and they’re sharp as the devil can make ’em,
and i sharpens ’em with care on a well stuffed chair
and i’m careful as can be not to break ’em.
oh it’s good to be a fish and i’ve heard some wish
they could fly where the eagle soars
but i’d rather be a cat all shiny and fat
with me paws full of awesome claws.
oh it’s curved they are like a scimitar
or the crescent moon that shines
and I use them well as i soon shall tell
as you comfortably reclines.
though they’re fair and fine and they gleam and shine
they are not just ornamental
cos i digs ’em in to a person’s skin
and i nearly drives ’em mental!!!!
refrain. (and i do mean (ouch!) refraaaaiiiiinnnnnnnnnn, pussycat !)