(To the tune of Under My Thumb by the Rolling Stones, 1966)
Under my feet, this little dog gets in the way. Under my feet. Why won’t she get lost when I say? She’s hounding me, while waiting for a crumb to slip, Hounding me, brown eyes entreat. She’s under my feet. Under my feet. She needs a companion to play, furry and sweet, to keep the titch out of my way, not hounding me, watching for a pan to drip. Hounding me, I can’t compete. She’s under my feet.
Under my feet, two little dogs won’t go away. Under my feet. What made me think this was the way? Surrounding me, and if I move, my foot will trip, grounding me. Concede defeat. They’re under my feet.
Remember that tune?