The Whippet Blues

Catherine Bateson
Illustrated by Mitch Vane

I've got the whippset rib cage blues,
sick of being skinny
with only chicken necks to eat
and tired of running fast.
I've got the whippet blues.

I want to be a whoppet
with a fob watch and a paunch.
I want to be a whoppet
eating Maccas with the lot.
I've got the whippet blues
oh yeah, the whippet rib cage blues.
I'm sick of chasing rabbits
tired of wallabies
I hate those chicken necks
and shiverin’ in the breeze.
I've got the whippet blues
oh yeah, the whippet rib cage blues.

I want to be a snippet
(that's just a little whippet
smaller than a packet of tea)
I'd be tucked into a jacket
spoilt just like a shitty zhu
(and live in ritzy Toorak, too,
with a man who drives a BMW)
oh man, I've got those whippet blues.

I'm sick of chasing rabbits
tired of wallabies
I hate those chicken necks
and shiverin’ in the breeze.
I've got the whippet blues
oh yeah, the whippet rib cage blues.

I want to be a hippet, wear a blue bandana
all the way down Brunswick Street.
Want to sit outside a fake cantina
watch the Fitzroy staffies work the beat.
I want to sip a pupocino, argue Foucault
wear some day-glo, be an urban hero.

I've got the whippet blues,
the skinny rib cage, chicken neck blues.
I'm so sick of chasing rabbits
tired of those wallabies
I hate the doggone chicken necks
and shiverin’ in the breeze.
I've got the whippet blues.
oh yeah mama,
got those skinny whippet blues.