Should little lambs grow into chops
And hang around in butcher shops?
No! No! I weep, it is too sad.
Snif, snuffle, snif, I feel so sad!"
"So do I!" roared the Hungry Tiger. "Stop! Stop! I am positively ill. What's that?" That was a large bunch of bananas. It came whistling over the wall, followed by three onions, a sausage, a squash pie and a head of cabbage.
"They always throw things when I sing," sobbed the singer, drying his eyes on his pink sleeve.
"Pass me that sausage," gulped the Hungry Tiger in a faint voice.
"Are—are'nt you going to eat me?" stuttered the sad singer, offering the sausage fearfully and jumping back as if he expected the tiger to snap off his arm. Between bites, and the sausage took only two, the Hungry Tiger shook his head.
"Not now," he answered wearily. "I might have swallowed you, but that song! Never! A man full of music like that would ruin my digestion. How's the pie?"
"Squashed," said the singer, in a depressed whisper. "Try the onions." He held them out hopefully, but the Hungry Tiger only shuddered.