Sarah
Gus is the cat at the theatre door
His name, as I ought to have told you before
Is really Asparagus, but that's a fuss to pronounce

That we usually call him just Gus
His coat's very shabby, he's thin as a rake
And he suffers from palsy that makes his paw shake
For he was in his youth quite the smartest of cats
But no longer a terror to mice or to rats

For he isn't the cat that he was in his prime
Though his name was quite famous, he says, in his time
And whenever he joins his friends at their club
(Which takes place at the back of the neighbouring pub)

He loves to regale them, if someone else pays
With anecdotes drawn from his palmiest days
For he once was a star of the highest degree
He has acted with Irving, he's acted with Tree

And he likes to relate his success on the halls
Where the gallery once gave him seven cat calls
But his grandest creation as he loves to tell
Was Firefrorefiddle, the fiend of the fell


Sir John
I have played in my time every possible part
And I used to know seventy speeches by heart
I'd extemporize backchat, I knew how to gag

And I knew how to let the cat out of the bag
I knew how to act with my back and my tail
With an hour of rehearsal, I never could fail
I'd a voice that would soften the hardest of hearts

Whether I took the lead, or in character parts
I have sat by the bedside of poor little Nell
When the curfew was rung then I swung on the bell
In the pantomime season, I never fell flat

And I once understudied Dick Whittington's cat
But my grandest creation, as history will tell
was Firefrorefiddle, the fiend of the fell

Sarah
Then, if someone will give him a toothful of gin
He will tell how he once played a part in East Lynne
At a Shakespeare performance he once walked on pat
When some actor suggested the need for a cat

Sir John
And I say now these kittens, they do not get trained
As we did in the days when Victoria reigned
They never get drilled in a regular troupe
And they think they are smart just to jump through a hoop

Sarah
And he says as he scratches himself with his claws

Sir John
Well the theatre is certainly not what is was
These modern productions are all very well
But there's nothing to equal from what I hear tell
That moment of mystery when I made history
As Firefrorefiddle, the fiend of the fell

Writer : A.L. WEBER, TREVOR NUNN, RICHARD STILGOE
Copyright : Lyrics © Williamson Music, Universal Music Publishing Group