Gone to the Dogs
Such a bright young chap named Mellow
(really a nice, and elegant fellow)
Whose ambition it was to see and be seen
In pastures that were more than green.
As well as pastures green and new,
He wanted money, the Big-time, too.
The best way, he thought, this dream to fulfil
And frown on his face he set with a will
Bought Casket, Lotto, and “went to the dogs”.
(He’d have stood a chance by fattening hogs!)
And then he had the great idea
And this would work, so never fear!
So out he went, himself to buy
A greyhound dog that caught his eye.
Ah, now he would be filthy rich –
So should he buy a dog or bitch?
As time went on the dog grew sleek
And Tony’s bank account grew weak:
A trainer to pay, the dog to keep
And meet his needs. It costs a heap!
The humiliation when the dog
Came down the track next morning’s fog!
He petted, cajoled, and took it to bed
(I thought he wasn’t right in the head).
His friends have lost their shirts – not quite,
Assuring Tony it’s quite all right.
Now Tony’s running round and round
And wearing holes into the ground,
And on this subject he’s most profound:
“Oh, please! Won’t someone take my hound?”