The Song of Pebbles – Or don't leave your Guinness on the bar floor

Tune: Paddy McGinty's Goat.

The. Ikkle Dorrit family, folksingers of renown,
Went up to Towersey, not far from Oxford Town.
Said they, "Sure, of singing we mean to have some fun,"
And took along their faithful dog, around the barn to run,

Now Pebbles liked that heartily, it was a doggy treat,
wandering round, amid the ground, getting under feet,
Begging sweeties from kiddies, sarnies from their mums,
Such a lovely place this folk meet, lots and lots of chums.

Pebbles was quite thirsty, just like both you an me.
She fancied some refreshment, when a glass she did see,
Of dark and creamy liquid, a sitting on the floor,
So Pebbles had a sip or two, and then had several more.

Pebbles was well brought up, not used to Porter beer,
It was too strong for little dogs, Pebbles felt quite queer.
The barn it's self was spinning, the noise it hurt her head,
Pebbles hid under the bench, and slept like she was dead.

Oh the Dorrits, they missed her, and they began to fear,
"Where has our dear Dog gone?", they hunted far and near,
They searched all through the village streets, full of remorse,
Wondering if the Oxford Police, would send Inspector Morse.

Pebbles lay there very quiet, dreaming her Liffey dreams,
Running with the Fenian dogs, over hills and streams,
She'd bitten an old black and tan, Collins had said "Good Lass",
When a searcher came and found her – Ah ! the dreams that pass !

[Well my dog behaves like that !]

Gareth.