Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Tha Garry Kat

Tha Garry Kat

Oul North Antrim noo haes got a kat, 
Nae ordinary moggie wha lies on tha mat, 
But a big blak thing that ates yer sheep, 
An gaes intae tha Garry an haes a sleep. 

Noo this big boy haes bane sa far an wide, 
An appears jest at wull alang tha dake side, 
In Conagher moss twa polis got a sicht o' him, 
Thae said he luked weel an wus in guid trim. 

Tha USPCA follaed him for a brave while, 
Ower monies a moss, feil, sheugh an stile, 
But this moggie niver staps for mair nir a minit, 
He's aff in a flash lake a flay doon yer simmit. 

Thers yins that wud sweer that he haes a brither, 
That wus sa' near Bushmill in a feil fu' o' heather, 
An oul boy frae Bogey sa him rin ower tha tap feil, 
Saes tha kat dinnae fool him for its surely tha deil. 

Noo tha hale cuntry side is oot efter this Kat, 
For he haes become famous thers nae doot o' that, 
He haes run rings roon them aa for monies a dey, 
An nae odds o' tha toonlan sure hae aye gets away. 

Noo maesel A think haes lakely o' tha blak airt, 
An micht turn intae a burd or a doag or a kert, 
An whun tha wunther comes tae tha oul Garry 
Sur tha kat in these airts wull nae langer tarry. 

by 'Tha Poocher'

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