I never much believed in reincarnation
Thought it was only people's imagination
But now I'm forced into some reconsideration
'Cause something's happened to my cat
That deserves some explanation
William Shakespeare's in my cat
My kitty is the bard
He used to be a playwright
Now he's digging up the yard
He's still a cat in most respects
He likes to meow and purr
But now I introduce him as the cat
That wrote Richard the third
I took him to see Phantom
He said it was quite nice
But he can't go see Miss Saigon
Until he kills some mice
(Until he kills some mice)
William Shakespeare's in my cat
It sometimes seems so deep
The guy who wrote Twelfth Night
Chews on my socks while I'm asleep
I'm really quite impressed
I own the cat who wrote MacBeth
But if something's rotten in this state
It's just his fishy breath
'Cause he wrote Romeo and Juliet
But his greatest story yet
Is coming back as someone's pet
And gettin' neutered by the vet
He got his paws caught in a net
Then he said to be or not to meeeow!
William Shakespeare's in my cat
He rarely ever talks
He makes his loudest statements
Standing in the litter box
He sleeps on all my shelves
And throws my books about the house
It doesn't sound like prose
When he bats a squeaky mouse
Sam Beckett's plays are witty,
Same thing for Bernard Shaw,
Oscar Wilde is pretty,
But none of them have paws
(None of them have paws)
William Shakespeare's in my cat
He chases bits of fluff
John Milton's in my goldfish
But I never liked his stuff
I'm thinking that Franz Kafka
Really came back as a bug
And I hope Andrew Lloyd Webber