Print

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 Aus Songtexte Mania