Well, I don't know what to make of this rhyme.
It's got me singing in six by eight time.
I'm aware my plate will have an affair,
And my hungry hound'll get loud and blare.

Cow's to the left of me.
Rover's to the right.
Here's my cat pluckin' the fiddle with spoon.

Yes, I'm drunk, as I whistle and swoon,
And I'm wond'ring why the dish likes the spoon.
It's so hard to leap those miles into space,
Mooing 'n' rolls, yeah, some tall order t' face.

Cow's on a jumpin' spree,
Over moon in flight.
Here I am cluckin' this little brisk tune.

Well, the start is awful sudden,
And my shouts obscure a well laid plan.
By the end the cops come calling,
Rap me with their gats and say:
Free-ee-ee-ee-ee-eeze!
Free-ee-ee-ee-ee-eeze!

Crying to shake these gents of the law,
But I can see these gents have no sense of awe.
It's uncool to show police to the door.
To the clink I ride in chains I deplore.

Clouded with lethargy,
Dopers want a light.
Here I am, stuck and a little bit screwed.

[Instrumental break]

Well, I smarted off for nothing,
And I frown and hear the cell gate slam.
Then they send me to the hearing,
Strap me to the stand and say:
Plea-ee-ee-ee-ee-ead!
Plea-ee-ee-ee-ee-ead!

Yeah, I don't know what to make of this rhyme.
I've got the feeling I'm facing jail time.
I'm so scared because I might get the chair,
With my hungry hound in pet pound somewhere.

Cow wants to set me free.
Rover wants to bite.
Here's my cat pluckin' the fiddlestick blues.

Yes, I'm stuck in a little brick room,
Stuck in the middle of gloom.
Here I am stuck with a riddle: this tune!