Weasel

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