There was a little demonrat, renting out my cellar.
Like the plague I avoided him, he was such a nasty feller.
His eyes were red and beady, he had a pointed snout.
He'd find his way back home, every time I threw him out.
He was proud to be a demonrat, he was a cunning little devil.
He had a problem with the truth, he was never on the level.
The neighbors didn't like him, they despised his ratty friends.
They claimed the odor from my cellar, carried on the wind.
He'd sneak up and raid my fridge in the middle of the night.
The occasions when I saw him, he was a gruesome sight.
His clothes were rags and tatters, his body odor reeked.
When I saw his buddies in the basement, I lost it and I shrieked.
They had this thing for Brandon, His posters on the walls.
Purple hair was everywhere, it covered all their skulls.
A foot of trash and sewage, washed across the floor.
I knew the john was clogged, I smelled it through the door.
I rushed and grabbed my phone to call an exterminator.
I realized that wouldn't do it and called the terminator.
I changed my mind before he got there, the d-rat was my son.
I couldn't have him terminated, I loved that worthless scum.
I packed up my belongings and I moved far, far away.
I didn't want him to find me on some near or distant day.
I handed him the housekeys as I left that nest of rats.
Next day I caught and sent him a truckload of homeless cats.
I still see my little demonrat, quite often on TV.
Protesting for his abortion rights, he fell a long way from my tree.
D.L. Crockett -- 9/20/22