Lyrics Fred - Live At the Marquee Club, London - Tom Paxton

I have a dog, and his name is Fred
Poor old feller, he'd be better off dead
Than to live his life with me
Me being one old flea

Fred used to scratch his back and side
Poor old feller, I would run and hide
I'd drink me a big old beer
And wait till the coast was clear

I know I sound like a mean old rat
But I'm just a flea, you know I can't help that
We're a perfect team, a pretty good match
I provide the itch and he replies with the scratch
Scratch, Fred, roll on the ground
Scratch, Fred, it makes a musical sound:
Chicka chicka chicka chicka chhhh
Chicka chicka chicka chicka chhhh

Fred won shows, he was a big success
So I was living at the best address
Life was a pleasure for me
He made me a high-class flea
Fred won ribbons and loving cups
He outclassed all of them other pups
But as soon as we were back in the yard
I'd nip that rascal hard

I know I sound like a mean old rat
But I'm just a flea, you know I can't help that
We're a perfect team, a pretty good match
I provide the itch and he replies with the scratch
Scratch, Fred, roll on the ground
Scratch, Fred, it makes a musical sound:
Chicka chicka chicka chicka chhhh
Chicka chicka chicka chicka chhhh

Well, Fred got older and he quit the shows
Makes you wonder where the glory goes
Now we lie in the noonday sun
And think of the stuff we've won
Fred gets sleepy when the sun gets hot
So we take a little snooze until the day is shot
And if I want to go in at night
I give him a little bite

I take it easy, 'cause he's old and fat
But I'm still a flea, you know I can't help that
We're a perfect team, a pretty good match
I provide the itch and he replies with the scratch
Scratch, Fred, roll on the ground
Scratch, Fred, it makes a musical sound:
Chicka chicka chicka chicka chhhh
Chicka chicka chicka chicka chhhh
Chicka chicka chicka chicka chhhh
Chicka chicka chicka chicka chhh