I never much believed in reincarnation

Thought it was only people's imagination

But now I'm forced into some reconsideration

'Cause something's happened to my cat

That deserves some explanation

William Shakespeare's in my cat

My kitty is the bard

He used to be a playwright

Now he's digging up the yard

He's still a cat in most respects

He likes to meow and purr

But now I introduce him as the cat

That wrote Richard the third

I took him to see Phantom

He said it was quite nice

But he can't go see Miss Saigon

Until he kills some mice

(Until he kills some mice)

William Shakespeare's in my cat

It sometimes seems so deep

The guy who wrote Twelfth Night

Chews on my socks while I'm asleep

I'm really quite impressed

I own the cat who wrote MacBeth

But if something's rotten in this state

It's just his fishy breath

'Cause he wrote Romeo and Juliet

But his greatest story yet

Is coming back as someone's pet

And gettin' neutered by the vet

He got his paws caught in a net

Then he said to be or not to meeeow!

William Shakespeare's in my cat

He rarely ever talks

He makes his loudest statements

Standing in the litter box

He sleeps on all my shelves

And throws my books about the house

It doesn't sound like prose

When he bats a squeaky mouse

Sam Beckett's plays are witty,

Same thing for Bernard Shaw,

Oscar Wilde is pretty,

But none of them have paws

(None of them have paws)

William Shakespeare's in my cat

He chases bits of fluff

John Milton's in my goldfish

But I never liked his stuff

I'm thinking that Franz Kafka

Really came back as a bug

And I hope Andrew Lloyd Webber-a