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Big Strong Cat (My Puddy Tat, Sylvester)
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I hated Tweety Bird growing up. This song is Sylvester's revenge.
irish folk songs scottish
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Marc Gunn is an Irish and Scottish folk singer with a strange affinity for Celtic ballads, drinking songs and cats, and he is the lead singer for the Brobdingna
Marc Gunn is an Irish and Scottish folk singer with a strange affinity for Celtic ballads, drinking songs and cats, and he is the lead singer for the Brobdingnagian Bards.
Song Info
Genre
World • Traditional Celtic
Peak in subgenre #30
Author
Marc Gunn, Fred Fischer
Rights
Marc Gunn
Uploaded
April 02, 2008
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.2 MB • 192 kbps • 2:17
Lyrics
I tawt I taw a puddy tat? He lives out on my door mat. Did you hear about the putty tat last night He tried to swallow me with one bite. You can take all of the alley cats away. (Oh pwease!) I've a cat trying to get in my cage He used to be a lonely, abandoned stray. Now he's hunting me every day. That is my puddy tat Sylvester. (What a tat!) He's piled furniture upon a chest. (Big chest!) He's built him a ladder to my nest; he never rests there. Think of a bird, Tweety bird, don't rush, just climb. And hope that Granny comes and finds me. He's got a paw to grab my head (Tweety's head) And a mouth that will soon swallow it. (Gulp!) It takes all the Grannies and old ladies to fight off that cat Sylvester. Well, he broke into my cage in Italy. He thought that Granny didn't see. She threw him off the harbor in New York. He was chased by a great big shark. He saw Granny leave in distress. (What'd he do?) He put on Granny's old dress. (Cwoss dwess!) Then he walked in the room with a key, But Granny came back suddenly. I tawt I taw a puddy tat in Japan So I pulled out a big frying pan. I dropped it on his head, left a knot I heard Sylvester scream, "You sthnot!" I was swinging in my cage and whistling. (What'd he do?) Sylvester grabbed me by my feet. (Big feet!) Granny walked in and yelled, "Stop!" Then Sylvester bit my head off. I am the puthy cat Sthylvester. (What a cat!) I piled furniture upon a chest. (Big chest!) I built me a ladder to his nest; I never rest there. Think of a bird, Tweety bird, don't rush, just climb, And hope that Granny doesn't find me. I've got a paw to grab his head (Tweety's head) And a mouth that will soon swallow it. (Gulp!) Not even all the Grannies and old ladies can defend their birds from Sthylvester. (sthuferin sthukatash, that Tweety was tasty)
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