The tiger flashes sharpened teeth.
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Bowler-hatted; summer briefs
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Beneath his pinstriped skin.
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To kill demands a business sense;
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Economy moves non-residence
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Approaching from down-wind.
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Being a tiger means you laugh
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Whenever lesser tigers have
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To eat meat that's infected.
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Being a tiger means your mate
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When overfed will defecate
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In places least expected.
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Knowing a tiger means you must
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Accept his promise of mutual trust
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And offer him your throat.
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Loving a tiger means you take
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Second place to the cake you bake
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And with undying servile obedience
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keep the stiffly starched collar
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of his conference shirt spotless
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and remove daily the daubed bloody
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evidence of his dastardly misdeeds
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from the otherwise immaculate elegance
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of his pinstripe tiger coat.
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Period.
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-----------------
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Law Of The Bungle
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| Jethro Tull |
