Bobby Gillespie said with a pant:
"There's life in this old dog yet."
So we slipped a collar around his neck
And led him straight off to the vet.
The surgeon withdrew a sample of blood
Then said to me: "now listen son,
I don't know what you've been feeding this pooch
But it hasn't been Pedigree Chum.
This canine is more drug than dog
He's a bona fide junkie mutt.
Instead of just sniffing for substances
He's snorted the stuff straight up.
We can send him off to a farm in Wales
Where he can rest and chase some sheep.
Or I can fetch the needle I call 'Old Faithful'
And put him humanely to sleep."
"Don't you know who this is?" I asked,
"He's a verified legend of rock.
We don't want to mangle the Scots mongrel's mojo,
We just want to give him the chop."
The quick operation caused Bobby no harm,
His tail soon resuming its wag.
We gave him a bone to reward his compliance
And took his balls home in a bag.
.
