The Fox who ate my Hens

I took the fox who ate my hens to see Dr Doodle-do, 

an expert in behaviour, teach him hens are not to chew,

Things were going well but as I admired the Doc's fish bowl,

The fox jumped off the couch and he ate the doctor whole.

Running from the doctor's, we thought we'd take a chance,

and dashed into Miss Henshaw's school of song and dance,

I asked if we could fox-trot, but funky-chicken was the rule,

So the fox ate all the chorus girls, which really wasn't cool.

Making our excuses, we called at Clickin' Chicken,

To teach him how to make fox-gloves, in their school of knitting,

But before I could get needles, or wool from off the ball,

The fox ate-up the teacher, feathers, beak and all.

Next we tried Cluck Berry's, the master of guitar,

The fox could have his name in lights, bringing people from afar,

but before we even got, the guitar tuned up just right,

Poor Mr Berry copped it, without putting up a fight.

I tried to teach him manners, with the help of Lady Cluck,

She told him to behave himself and not to cause a ruck,

But when she tried to balance, a book upon his head,

He smiled and with a wicked grin, upon the lady fed.

Next, Scottish country dancing, with my old friend Grace McSquawk,

She did the Highland Fling for us then gave a little talk,

but the fox he wasn't listening, McSquawk looked far too yummy,

so later-on she had to dance inside the fox's tummy.

Last I tried Hen Nevis, the worlds biggest hen by far,

She towered above the fox and me, even standing on a car,

Fox licked his lips, then paused for thought, was this a time to flee?

But Miss Nevis was too quick for him and ate the fox for tea.