Biscuit The Dog Poem by George Hunter

Time to feed Biscuit, the dog.
He’s as happy as a frog on a log.
He likes Atta Boy the best
Over all of the rest.
He’s living so high on the hog.

He eats all kinds of stuff
From the smooth food to the rough.
He’s not that particlier
But he’ll eat it up quicklier
If it’s to his taste, sure enough.

He likes to drift down the street
Where all of the girl dogs meet.
He’s got some pups ‘round the hood
And that can’t be so good
The neighbors wish he’d retreat.
And stay at home
Never to roam.
We’ve got enough dogs on this beat.

Guess we could fix him with an operation.
But I doubt we would get his cooperation.
It would save a lot of pups their vir-gin-i-tee
But he would hate to lose his mas-cu-lin-i-tee.
So I couldn’t approve of that situation.

But I’d hate to confine him to the yard
It would make his life so very hard
Not being able to run
And have so much fun
He would feel like his life was scarred.

We could teach him ab-sti-nance
And have him keep it in his pants.
But he wouldn’t agree
He’d rather be free.
And much rather take a chance.