The prophet in the rabbit skin coat

She came stumbling up the stairs and you caught her eye;

The prophet in the rabbit-skin coat.

And soon you realised your mistake

Because first she licked you,

But then she got her teeth stuck in

And she shook you about with the contents of her glass.

“You’ve got shdeep, mysterious eyes…”

She examines you more closely, swaying towards you from the top of the stairs.

“Surch slanty eyes,”

You laugh.

“Silfer fox….” Sway, narrowing of the eyes, “Cunning fox,” sway, wine ebbs over the side of her glass onto your leg, “Shly fox.”

She turns to me, “ ’e’s a sly foxsh, don’t trust a shly one.”

She turns to you, “I’nt she beau’iful! Shis beau’iful!”

The glass swings up into the air (slop)

“She’ll leave you if you’re not careful. “Sh’ weel!”

She turns to me, “Oh you’re beau’ful,”

To you, “Oh she ees.” She sways in close, you laugh, wiping the spittle from your face. She drops a little more wine on your leg for good measure.

“Ma bruther got me this coat. Oh yesh. He’s in Irn Maidin. Ish rabbit shkin.”

“Ooh, how lovely,” I say stroking the coat in horror.

She leans in, close to your face. “She’ll leave you if you’re not careful. Sh’ weel!”

And off she stumbles, the prophet in the rabbit skin coat.