Cats Bustopher Jones Lyrics

Bustopher Jones Lyrics

The next cat to join the proceedings is the hefty "Bustopher 

                  Jones." A large "twenty-five pounder," always clad in his 

                  signature white spats, Bustopher spends his time eating,
eating 

                  and eating in one of the many English pubs and clubs that he


                  frequents. Jennyanydots is quite besauntered with him, and
helps

                  sing his praises. He responds, to her great delight, by
kissing

                  her hand.

 

                  SOLO: 

                  Bustopher Jones is not skin and bones 

                  In fact, he's remarkably fat 

                  He doesn't haunt pubs, he has eight or nine clubs 

                  For he's the St. James Street cat! 

                    

                  He's the cat we all greet as we walk down the street 

                  In his coat of fastidious black 

                  No common-place mousers have such well cut trousers 

                  Or such an impeccable back 

                    

                  In the whole of St. James's the smartest of names is 

                  The name of this Brummell of cats 

                  And we're all of us proud to be nodded or bowed to 

                  By Bustopher Jones in white spats 

                    

                  BUSTOPHER JONES: 

                  My visits are occasional to the senior educational 

                  And it is against the rules 

                  For any one cat to belong both to that 

                  And the joint superior schools 

                  When I'm seen in a hurry there's probably curry 

                  At the Siamese or at the glutton 

                  When I look full of gloom then 

                  I've lunched at the tomb 

                  On cabbage, rice pudding and mutton 

                    

                  SOLO: 

                  In the whole of St. James's the smartest of names is 

                  The name of this Brummell of cats 

                  And we're all of us proud to be nodded or bowed to 

                  By Bustopher Jones in white spats 

                    

                  So much in this way passes Bustopher's day 

                  At one club or another he's found 

                  It can be no surprise that under our eyes 

                  He has grown unmistakably round 

                    

                  He's a twenty-five pounder 

 

                  BUSTOPHER JONES: 

                  Or I am a bounder 

                    

                  SOLO: 

                  And he's putting on weight every day 

                    

                  BUSTOPHER JONES: 

                  But I'm so well preserved because I've observed 

                  All my life a routine and I'd say 

                    

                  I am still in my prime, I shall last out my time 

                  That's the word from this stoutest of cats 

                  It must and it shall be spring in Pall Mall 

                  While Bustopher Jones wears white 

                  Bustopher Jones wears white 

                  Bustopher Jones wears white spats!