Waiting for the fishing boats

All us Tabbies Gingers
Siamese Abyssinians we
Are waiting tummies rumbling
On the old brick quay
The fishing boats
Will hopefully come back laden
Always throw some scraps at us
Which clearly makes our day

They gut some at the waters edge
And thats when we can eat
Fresh not mucked about or frozen
Its like being the elite
Having really all sorts
Even the expensive kinds
Otherwise at home out of those tins
It blows our minds

Have you ever stopped to think
Cat food in those cans
Theres hardly any fish in them
Rendered why no bans?
Cereals and chemicals
And stuff we so not eat
In pretty tins with labels
But far from complete

And so we live close to the sea
And sit here everyday
Waiting for the fishing boats
And, dont have to pay
We can chew on mackerel
We can chew on plaice
We can chew on a dab or two
Or an eel or crab at a pace

Whiting even dog fish
We can eat real well
Its great to live beside the sea
I advise you for a spell
Fresh fish some still wriggling
Thats the fish to try
Not this frozen farmed muck
With no taste by and by

So here we are together
Sitting on the quay
All our hearts are pumping
And our stomachs do they be
Rumbling like the thunder
Its great to go a day
Without that awful tinned food
That fills us with dismay.

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