Who's lurking in this gloomy cave?
Hans Huckebein, the jet black knave.
The bone on which the raven sits
Is claimed as property by Spitz.
They caw and growl, they hold on tight.
One's pulling left, the other, right.
While Spitz has victory in mind,
The raven pinches from behind.
Oh dear! He lands on Spitz's neck
To pull his hair, to pick and peck.
Spitz takes offense and, full of spite,
He turns to rip, and pluck, and bite.
The cat, meanwhile, has snatched the hock,
And he escapes into the crock.
They sit and stare, and that is that -
They don't exactly trust the cat.
The Spitz cries out - the tomcat claws;
The raven utters joyful caws.
The crock is cracked, the tail sticks through;
He nabs it, and he pulls it, too.
The crock is rolling on the ground;
The tail is twisted round and round.
And Spitz and tomcat run away. -
The greatest scoundrel wins the prey! -
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