ANNA MULE.. SINGALONG

Anna Mule (c) The Watercats 2011 by vickyguns

Any Americans out there, we're only getting our own back for the decades worth of bad english and Irish accents down the years :-)

ANNA MULE

She was battle-axed and beautiful
A scar across her face,
Had a hound so dutiful
Followed her around the place.
She stood two feet taller
Taller than any man,
If she was the correct colour
She'd be a Amazonian
But she was paler than a white horse
Pounding on the shore,
Hair ginger as a biscuit
Near as darned it to the floor.
Anna mule.

You could find her every other night
In Rose's West End Bar,
Towering over pool fights
Dressed like A Russian Tsar,
Hound around her ankles
Growling like  prayer,
She'd roll her sleeves above her bangles
And set her sights up for a stare.
The last man standing
Was the first man down,
There was no'one more demanding
Than when Anna was in town.
Anna Mule.

She had fists powerful as Jesus
And eyes like lead,
Purely just to please us
She could knock a man dead.
She had a mouth set square
In a face so wide,
Complexion like a paper bag
With the devil inside.
Her birthplace was a mystery,
Her accent thick and deep,
It was runoured that her history
Started somewhere on the streets,
Anna Mule.

Her demise cam suddenly,
No'one seemed to know.
The weather went to buggery
The town was drifted up with snow.
A child found some size twelve footprints
Heading out towards the hills,
An empty bottle of whiskey
And a trail of pills.
There was no trace of old Anna
Though we searched for miles around,
It was a strange co-incidence
That we never found the hound of
Anna Mule.

There's not many of us left now
Know the legend of the lady,
But if you treat me to one or two
I'll tell you tales of her for ages.
there was no finer specimen
On this planet made,
She was a woman who put better men
Than me to utter shame.
I have often seen her
Sillhouetted in the sky,
Hands on her hips,
her growly dog by her side,
Anna Mule... etc.