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Growltiger was a Bravo Cat who travelled on a barge |
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In fact he was the roughest cat that ever roamed at large |
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From Gravesend up to Oxford he pursued his evil aims |
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Rejoicing in his title of The Terror of the Thames |
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His manners and appearance did not calculate to please |
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His coat was torn and seedy, he was baggy at the knees |
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One ear was somewhat missing, no need to tell you why |
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And he scowled upon a hostile world from one forbidding eye |
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The cottagers of Rotherhithe knew something of his fame |
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At Hammersmith and Putney people shuddered at his name |
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They would fortify the henhouse, lock up the silly goose |
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When the rumour ran along the shore: Growltiger's on the loose! |
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Woe to the weak canary that fluttered from its cage |
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Woe to the pampered Pekinese that faced Growltiger's rage |
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Woe to the bristly bandicoot that lurked on foreign ships |
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And woe to any cat with whom Growltiger came to grips! |
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But most to cats of foreign race his hatred had been vowed |
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To cats of foreign name and race no quarter was allowed |
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The Persian and the Siamese regarded him with fear |
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Because it was a Siamese had mauled his missing ear |
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Now on a peaceful summer night all nature seemed at play |
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The tender moon was shining bright, the barge at Molsey lay |
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All in the balmy moonlight it lay rocking on the tide |
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And Growltiger was disposed to show his sentimental side |
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Growltiger's bucko mate Grumbskin long since had disappered |
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For to the Bell at Hampton he had gone to wet his beard |
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And his bosun Tumblebrutus, he too had stolen away |
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In the yard behind the Lion he was prowling for his prey |
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In the forepeak of the vessel Growltiger sat alone |
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Concentrating his attention on the lady Griddlebone |
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And his raffish crew were sleeping in their barrels and their bunks |
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As the Siamese came creeping in their sampans and their junks |
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Growltiger had no eye or ear for aught but Griddlebone |
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And the lady seemed enraptured by his manly baritone |
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Disposed to relaxation and awaiting no surprise |
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But the moonlight shone reflected from a thousand bright blue eyes |
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And closer still and closer the sampans circled round |
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And yet from all the enemy there was not heard a sound |
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The foe was armed with toasting forks and cruel carving knives |
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And the lovers sang their last duet in danger of their lives |
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Oh, how well I remember the Old Bull and Bush |
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Where we used to go down on a Sattadau night |
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Where, when anythink happened, it come with a rush |
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For the boss, Mr. Clark, he was very polite |
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A very nice house, from basement to garret |
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A very nice house. Ah, but it was the parrot |
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The parrot, the parrot named Billy M'Caw |
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That brought all those folk to the bar |
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Ah, he was the life of the bar! |
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Of a Saturday night, we was all feeling bright |
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And Lily La Rose - the barmaid that was |
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She'd say, "Billy, Billy M'Caw! |
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Come give us, come give us a dance on the bar!" |
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And Billy would dance on the bar |
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And then we'd feel balmy, in each eye a tear |
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And emotion would make us all order more beer |
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Lily, she was a girl what had brains in her head |
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She wouldn't have nothing, no, not that much said |
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If it come to an argument or a dispute |
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She'd settle it offhand with the toe of her boot |
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Or as likely as not put a fist through your eye |
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But when we was happy, and just a bit dry |
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Or when we was thirsty, and just a bit sad |
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She would rap on the bar with that corkscrew she had |
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And say "Billy, Billy M'Caw! |
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Come give us a tune on your pastoral flute!" |
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And Billy'd strike up on his pastoral flute |
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And then we'd feel balmy, in each eye a tear |
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And emotion would make us all order more beer |
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"Billy, Billy M'Caw!“ |
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Come give us a tune on your moley guitar!" |
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And Billy'd strike up on his moley guitar |
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And then we'd feel balmy, in each eye a tear |
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And emotion would make us all order more beer |
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Billy, Billy M'Caw! |
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Come give us a tune on your moley guitar! |
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He was the life of the bar. |
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Then Gilbert gave the signal to his fierce Mongolian horde |
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With a frightful burst of fireworks, the Chinks they swarmed aboard |
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Then Griddlebone she gave a screech, for she was badly skeered |
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I am sorry to admit it |
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But she quickly disappeared |
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She probably escaped with ease |
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I'm sure she was not drowned |
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But a serried ring of flashing steel Growltiger did surround |
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The ruthless foe pressed forward in stubborn rank on rank |
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Growltiger to his vast surprise was forced to walk the plank |
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He who a hundred victims had driven to that drop |
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At the end of all his crimes was forced to go kerflip kerflop |
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Oh there was joy in Wapping when the news flew through the land |
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At Maidenhead and Henley there was dancing on the Strand |
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Rats were roasted whole at Brentford and Victoria Dock |
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And a day of celebrations was commanded in Bangkok |
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"These modern productions are all very well |
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But there's nothing to equal, from what I hear tell |
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That moment of mystery when I made history . . ." |
