Ratus Ratus he was brown
And when he left old London Town
Twas out in the sticks he made his way
To where forests danced
And where foxes play

Among the haystacks he would run
And bathe awhile in the Autumn sun
Frighten the ladies in barn and shack
And for that,he got his share of flack

A handsome fellow with teeth to match
Liked to frequent the orchard patch
Where he’d climb the trees and munch away
The beauty of Bath on a crimson day

His prehensile tail was extra long
As long as his body you can’t go wrong
With a tail as straight as the plumb bob die
No wonder he made the young girls cry

He would gnaw right through Tom Merriman’s
As drunk as a coot appearing dead
To the world at large but not old tom
A country lad was where he was from

He would take his pitch fork and bring it down
On any rat from London Town
Squash them flat impale them hard
They really had to be on their guard.

A story made up on the spur of the moment
Listening to rats run under the floorboards
In an old barn.

Written at 2.30 in the morning with the wind
Howling outside.

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