Somebody's moggy by the side of the road. Somebody's pussy who forgot his highway code. Someone's favorite feline who ran clean out of luck when he ran onto the road and tried to argue with a truck. Yesterday he purred and played in his pussy paradise, decapitating tweety birds and masticating mice. Now he's just six pounds of raw mincemeat that don't smell very nice. He's nobody's moggy now.
All you who love your pussy, be sure to keep him in, don't let him argue with a truck, the truck is bound to win. And upon the busy road, don't let him play or frolic. If you do, I'm warning you: it could be cat-astrophic. If he tries to play on the roadway, I'm afraid that will be that, there will be one last despairing ‟meow!” and a sort of squelchy splat, and your pussy will be slightly dead and very, very flat. He's nobody's moggy, just red and squashed and soggy. He's nobody's moggy now.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
