Footlecum Dur (Трисс Воительница)

Young Footlecum Durr, I do declare,
Was a fanciful little shrew.
With waxy grease he curled his fur
An’ wore a greatcoat o’ blue.

His ma was ever so fond of him,
That lest his paws should bruise
She made for him from aspen skin
A brand-new pair of shoes.

Well, pickle my fur, I tell you, sir,
Do you believe the news?
O what to do, a Guosim shrew,
Clompin’ about in shoes!

With laces green, the best you’ve seen,
An’ silver bells each end,
He strutted here an’ swaggered there,
An’ jigged about no end.

Til Footlecum took off his shoes,
An’ paddlin’ went one day.
Then a big old owl, the thievin’ fowl,
Swooped down an’ stole’em away.

So now in the night, if you wake in a fright
At a strange sound in the air,
Tis only that bird that you have heard
In the shoes of Footlecum Durr.

Too whit too woo, a ding dong clomp,
He’s dancin’ round out there,
Pursued by a shrew, cryin’ out OHey you,
They’re the shoes of Footlecum Durr!