When squirrels run rampant
All over the lawn,
Those gray mafiosi
All under the don
Who tells them to kneecap
The chipmunks and birds,
Directs them to fill up
Their nests with cow turds;
Then goodness is dormant
And sunshine is gone,
Cursed by the greed
Of the mafia don,
That nasty old squirrel
Who rules over the lawn.
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