I hate these rats.
I hate them with all my might.
How do they get inside?
I thought this place was tight.

They run so fast.
They scurry and chew and gnaw.
Small charge in the revolver,
They're gone 'fore I can draw.

They're smart, these rats.
They stay away from the bait.
The dogs can never catch them.
They're just a second late.

Cold brings them in.
Cold weather every fall.
Summer they stay outside.
Cold and they breach the wall.

Sorry little rat.
Sorry, but you must go.
There's not room for you in here.
Sorry, but you must go.

© 1996 by Alan R. Turner. All Rights Reserved
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