A week or two ago, by accident you know
I tore my Sunday breeches right behind
I showed 'em to my wife, the treasure of my life
And spoke to her so tenderly and kind
Said I, 'I want these trousers patched
With something that'll stand a bit of wear
But don't use stuff that's hard or stiff
Or I shall be inclined to do a swear.'
She obeyed me, there's no doubt,
But the next time I walked out,

Chorus: All the dogs went, 'Bow-wow-wow.'
Round about the place they smelt
The boys in the street cried, 'Meat, meat, meat.'
And very queer I felt
When I discovered what the meaning of it was, for murder I was ripe
For my wife had patched my Sunday pantaloons
With a quarter of a yard of tripe.

The missis, I admit, is just a little bit
Eccentric in the region of the thatch
She actually bought that tripe because she thought
'Twas the very thing she wanted for the patch
She glued it on my pants, and said
'How gratified the darling ought to be.'
And, 'pon my word, it looked 'all gay'
So off I went a friend of mine to see
I knew not what was wrong,
But as I strolled along,


I called upon my pal - forget I never shall
I stood upon the rug before the fire
An odour I described of something being fried
The scent was getting gradually higher
Then all at once my friend's tom-cat
Jumped up and dug his talons in my back
With one loud yell I rushed off home
With half a dozen tabbies on my track
With my coat-tails held down tight
I ran with all my might.


Written and composed by Fred. W. Leigh - 1895
Performed by Harry Champion (1865-1942)
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