BLACK SHUCK

Should you venture out in Beeston’s night,
be warned that you might get a fright.
Hiking up on Beeston Bump
you’ll hear a knock, a thud, a thump.

You’ll wheel about, say ‘who goes there?’.
Then squeal in terror, shock, despair.
Stare into a bright flaming eye.
No time to run nor wonder why.

With gleaming teeth and glist’ning jaws,
with lion’s mane but tiger claws.
You’ll know then you’re outta luck
There’s no unseeing once you’ve seen Black Shuck!

He will not claw nor tear nor bite.
He’ll soon be gone, merged with the night.
You breathe a sigh of sweet relief.
You’ll tell your tale in disbelief

to tourists in some Cromer bar,
drive quickly home by motor car.
Undress, fall woozily into bed.
At sunrise, your family find you dead!

Sweet reader, should you hear a sound
on Beeston Bump, don’t look around.
Just close your eyes tight shut and wait
and you’ll avoid this dreadful fate.

If you peek once, you’re out of luck
if you see that hound of hell, Black Shuck!
That canine fiend with teeth so big!
Black Shuck! That dog don’t give a fig!