Whilst on his daily walk through the town
The dog stood and noticed something with a frown.
Where's the fur, the brown stuff, there's nothing there
He was sure he was born with some kind of hair.
He noticed other dogs had fetching fur of different styles
He knew this because of his constant treking for miles
Every flipping day and every night just walking
With his blood boiling owner, fuming and talking
Being dragged through fog, puddles and the like
Once his lead was tied to the handle bars of his bike
He worried once he would be tied to the car
Being paraded along because he would not walk that far.
And through all of this he has hat, scarf and a warm coat
What do I have, nothing but a strip of leather on my throat.
Nothing on my paws in the snow and ice and the rain
He does nothing but moan, I don't get chance to complain.
That night Rover crept into his room and began to dig
Bingo he thought that'll do, he'd found an old wig.
So he managed to fling it into the air to land on his head
The warmth it provided, oh yes, he buried it in his bed
He lay on it that night and admired it from within
Little bits or hair sticking out from his wrinkly skin.
Next time he takes me out for a stroll, I'll be a new dog
Through the pouring rain, sunshine and thick dense fog.