Bob, the Pedigree Sheepdog
(Mike Cross and Roger Chappell)

I've got a dog, his name is Bob
And I know he's a pedigree sheepdog
'Cos if walkers stray on the Pennine Way
He'll prove he's a Dalesbred sheepdog
And he'll fill the pen with assorted men
Something to sharpen his teeth on
And his picnic taste for salmon paste
Proves he's a Dalesbred sheepdog
So if you see Bob, the outlaw dog
Better leave him well alone
"Cos he likes little girls with long blond curls
Much better than a bone.

Now at Sheepdog Trials they come for miles
Just to see a pedigree sheepdog
And his country fans all clap their hands
'Cos they know he's a Dalesbred sheepdog.
Whilst others leap to round up sheep
He's a nowhere to be seen dog.
Knocking down Newcastle Brown
Proves he's a pintsize sheepdog.

Now cars and bikes and folks on hikes
Are clogging all the Dales up
And if it goes on there won't be none
For our littermen to clean up.
But Bobs works hard in his own farmyard;
He doesn't need a reason.
A tourist a day keeps pollution away
And it's always open season.

A dog-food man with a can in his hand
Full of marrowbone jelly and noodles
Said he's had enough of dogs from Crufts
And temp'ramental poodles.
He could take us far - make Bob a star -
Gold-plated kennels and houses
But Bob gave a grin as he opened the tin
And took the backside out of his trousers.

Now a man came round from the Skipton Pound;
In his hand he carried a Summons
'Cos Bob put a paw outside the law -
By gum, he is a rum'un;
They'd had complaints to use restraints
And swore out an injuncture.
Bob's offense was he'd no license
To practice acupuncture.
So if you see Bob, the outlaw dog,
Better leave him well alone
'Cos he likes little girls with long blonde curls
Much better than a bone.

copyright EFDS Publications 1974
SOF