Our hound’s a wreck…pissed as a newt…I think he’s caned on rye
He stole a nip…an’ now he’s crook…I hope he will survive
We’re best of mates…a hound forlorn…my ma and sisters cry
A drunken bark…his throat is hoarse…at least he’s still alive

He wailed: it smarts…upset the pan…some chips I’d tried to fry
Won’t scoff my steak…nor touch his bowl…won’t snatch our chitlins pie
Upon the seventh…dog sick day…we gave our vet a call
A grand per night…the fee that’s due…no normal case at all

We hired the son…he turned up fast…mutt gave him gyp galore
The lad was fried…I prayed an’ wept…his beers, our fears: no joy
His notes were long…he read them wrong…aghast, he should be banned
A faulty dog…who likes his grog…our pet has been trepanned