I've got a cat called Basingstoke,
he's a cat you must admire 
He's black and white, or he was
'till the night that he jumped into the fire
What a night! The tale it must be told
So grip your seat for you're in for a treat
that will make your blood run cold.
Basingstoke, he used to be so furry
Till he tried to kung-fu the canary.
Up he jumped soaring ever higher

Then the soaring stopped and down he dropped
In the middle of the fire
In flames and smoke
my Basingstoke went roaring round the room
His fiery tum and his blackened bum
appeared to spell his doom.
What a cat! Whoever would have guessed
He could stick his rear
in a pint of beer while beating out his chest.
Basingstoke, he truly is a trier.
It takes guts to sing when you're on fire
What a cat!  
You should have seen him strain
Stuck like glue in the bottom of the loo
and trying to pull the chain

Now life's no joke for Basingstoke
so runs the ugly rumour
That the fiery hob did not just
rob him of his sense of humour
Poor old chap! The prospect it appals
Just one jump and down with a bump
And he's burnt off all his undergrowth.
Basingstoke, his tale is truly tragic
Fire and smoke, they have robbed him of his magic
The former spring-pawed terror of the tiles
Just sits and sighs with tears in his eyes
'Cause he only raises smiles.
Basingstoke, he used to be a charmer
Now ladies joke, they talk of fried banana
Poor old chap! He was too young to retire
Once he was happy, handsome and hairy
Just a red-blooded pussy with a taste for canary
Now he comes somewhere between
a fritter and a fairy
Since he walked the fire.