There's a lobby by my study where my visitors may enter
which, since we got the kittens, has a dirtbox at the centre.
They're still too young to go outside, that's why I ask for pity:
they've turned my quiet oasis into Shitty Kitty City.
Pity, pity, isn't it a pity?
They've turned my quiet oasis into Shitty Kitty City.
Their mother trained them very well to go into the tray.
They do their stuff and cover it - that's fair enough, you say;
but litter gets flicked everywhere, so underfoot is gritty:
you need your wellies on indoors for Shitty Kitty City.
Pity, pity, isn't it a pity?
You need your wellies on indoors for Shitty Kitty City.
Mind the crap... Mind the crap... Stand clear of the turds, please.
I scoop the jobbies off the floor: the cats think I collect 'em,
so each one keeps on squeezing me a present from its rectum.
There's steaming heaps all over, and it isn't smelling pretty -
it's best to wear a gasmask when in Shitty Kitty City.
Pity, pity, isn't it a pity?
It's best to wear a gasmask when in Shitty Kitty City.
Ip dip dog shit, you are not it.
But soon they will be big enough to do it in the garden.
I'm putting out my begging bowl, for which I beg your pardon.
And now you see, good people all, the reason for my ditty -
a whipround for a catflap door for Shitty Kitty City.
Pity, pity, isn't it a pity?
I need to buy a catflap door for Shitty Kitty City.