Gus is the cat at the theater door
His name, as I ought to have told you before,
Is really asparagus,
but that's such a fuss to pronounce
that we usually call him just Gus.
His coat's very shabby,
he's thin as a rake,
and he suffers from palsy
that makes his pores shake.
Yet he was in his youth
quite the smartest of cat s,
though no longer a terror
To mice an d to rats.
For he isn't the cat
that he was in his prime.
Though his name was quite famous,
he says, in his time.
And whenever he joins his
friends at the club,
Which takes place at the back
of the neighboring pub,
He loves to regale them if someone else pays,
With anecdotes drawn
from his palmiest days.
For he once was a star
of the highest degree,
He has acted with arming,
he has acted with tree
and he likes to relate his success of the halls
where the gallery once gave him seven cat calls
but his grandest creation
as he loves to tell
was fire fro fiddle the fiend of the fell
I have played in my time
every possible part,
and I used to know seventy
speeches by heart.
I'd ex temporize backchat,
I knew how to gag,
and I knew how to let the
cat out of the bag.
I knew how to act
with my back and my tail.
With an hour of rehearsal
I never could fail.
I'd a voice that would soften
the hardest of hearts.
Whether I I took the lead,
or in character parts,
I have sat by the bedside
of poor little Nell.
When the curfew was rung,
then I swung on the bell.
In the pantomime season,
I never fell flat,
And I once understudied Dick
Whittington's cat.
But my grandest creation,
as his tory will tell,
Was fire -throw -fiddle,
the Fiend of the Fell.
Then if someone will give him
a toothful of gin,
He will tell how he once played
a part in East Lynn.
At a Shakespeare performance
he once walked on pat,
When some actor suggested
the need for a cat.
And I say, love, these kittens,
they do not get trained
As we did in the days
when Victoria reigned
They never get drilled in a regular troop
And they think they are smart
just to jump through a hoop
And he says,
as he scratches himsel
f with his claws,
Well, the theatre is certainly
not what it was.
These modern productions
are all very well,
But there's nothing to equal
from what I hear tell.
That moment of mystery
when I made history
As fire -floor fiddle,
the fiend of the fell. you