Thursday, November 29, 2007

Little children gather round
To hear the story of the basker hound

He lies in wait for young and old
He likes to say he broke the mold

He is a sneaky snarky sort
Full of gall and short on sport

This monster dog from purgat’ry
Once set ablaze a monast’ry

The monks they flew the gates a rush
The hound he tracked them smashed them smush
Their little robes all stained in blood
The red juice ran the stairs a flood

Which may be why the legends say
To only tread by light of day
That sacred spot where devil mutt thrashed
And burned and pillaged and left all ashed

Such a calm and quiet and happy spot
Now all to hell was quite quick shot

So if you pass upon a misty monk
While stumbling incoherent drunk
Wake up next day have a look around
You may have met prey of the basker hound