Hot Cat 47
Hey dead – head! Are you well – read?
Or is that chip on your shoulder more like a boulder?
I just want to know what you think
After considering all but the kitchen sink
Terrible as it may seem, the butter must come from the cream
Horrible as it may sound, what was lost must now be found
Gathering up resources, I find my way
Through the thick and thin of it, across the bay
Sitting pretty on a stage, it’s not the show which you engage
Atop a mighty Big Top tent
It is the place where fumes will vent
Soon the air is pure and clean, and we can’t make a scene
Getting by with very little
I decide my fate of violin or fiddle
Through the roof, or hot tin on top
The cat must open up a shop
Of but a bit of consolation
My business grew from consolidation
Of surprising consequence,
The sweat of it did not cause me to wince
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