Weasel - Slow Gherkin

I bought them just a week ago.

I thought they’d make good pets

But all they do is chew on me and smoke my cigarettes

My house is trashed, my scooter crashed, my Sunday suit is ruined--

Not to mention my white boy hide is one big open wound

My extremities are dismembered, and my poor old face is cut

And now here comes those razor teeth--they're lunging for my butt!

They drink my Beck’s, they fry on X, and all they do is rave

So one day I got sick of them, and I threw them in the goddamn microwave

Skankin' weasel, skankin' weasel!

Weasel, weasel!

I turned the knob to «super high» and pressed the button «cook.»

But then I saw the cord chewed through, and then the weasel booked

He darted in the kitchen and into the living room

I ran after him throwing knives and swinging my old broom

I swang and swang but did not hit--the weasel was too fast

So I got out my pocket knife and I hit one in the ass

Finally got a hold of one--the death sentence was dealt

I popped him in the pressure cooker and watched him slowly melt