As read by Kathleen Hanrahan on GE 26.10.96.
(Unfortunately, the ending was cut off by a distraught Paul Moth...)
The dark, fearsome yarn of the Great Wooly Beast
He's covered with fur, matted and foul
The hum coming off him will make children howl
There's talk of a maw with teeth set like knives
Those who have felt them have paid with their lives
He might fancy your head, or your liver instead
You are his dinner, laying in bed
He starts at your toes, for soft brain he's bound
He slurps and chaws loudly, your sweet spots he's found
He savours each bite, he chews with no haste
Each bone full of marrow he sucks for the taste
But the worst little boy...