He’d take your own hands if they weren’t still attached,
The Great King of Thieves, who has never been matched.
I’ve seen him, you know, in a flicker I snatched.
Light as a feather, that Christopher Fox.

He speeds through the woods, leaves his prey in a daze.
You never can catch him, no matter the ways
That you try to outsmart him. It’s hopeless, I’d say.
Quicker than lightning, that Christopher Fox.

He searches for treasure. Through castles, he sneaks.
He then takes his plunder when nobody peeks.
Soon, he's gone in a flash, and they won’t know for weeks.
Soft as a mouse, that Christopher Fox.

He leaves a white mask for the castle now bare.
He stops his foes’ hunt with a swish and a care
And he sings sweet good-byes as he glides through the air.
Bold as a badger, that Christopher Fox.

The treasures he pilfers are taken from ones
Who steal from all animals under the sun,
So he gives away all the plunder he’s won.
Pure as the snow, that Christopher Fox.

So if you should walk in the forest one day,
If you frolic or run or just want to play,
You might catch his eye. Then he'll wink and away.
Sly as he is, that Christopher Fox.