Fat bastard squeezes
into his car, seatbelt's too small, but he's not going far.
Burns off into the countryside to a pub with real ale and plenty of
pies.
A dull thud
gives the fatty a jolt, puts his weight on the brakes,
Brings the car to a halt.
There's a poodle in the grass on the verge, laid on its back, paws
in the air.
And so he huffs
and he puffs to get out of the car
Sweat on his head, bags round his arse
Picking up a boulder from the edge of the field,
He puts a quick end to the dog's misery
Big rock breaks
the little dog's skull, fatty doesn't stop 'til the head is a pulp
Kicks the carcass right under the weeds,
Huffs back to his car, he's late for his feed.
Pulls up outside
the "Traveller's Rest", big plate of chips and a large
chicken breast.
Then a copper wanders into the snug, says he'd like a quick word
outside of the pub
And so he huffs
and he puffs, trying to finish his snack,
Tells the PC he's applied for his tax...
"We've had
a call from Mrs Ball, who lives down the lane,
She was out with her dogs, she was watching them play.
A motorist drove up so fast, it gave her a shock, he ran Bonzo down,
He screeched to a halt. Got out of the car, was overweight, and
seemed out of breath,
He picked up a rock, and battered Trixie to death.
If it wasn't you, then tell the truth, explain if you will,
Why a poodle's embedded in your radiator grill?"
