Whelp

Whelp, you know he peed somebody.
Whelp, not just anybody.
Whelp, oh no, it was her mom.
Whelp!

He is a dunger, blown-duct "plumber," and he'll pay
For peeing on my brand-new carpet from Bombay.
His days are numbered, and I will settle the scores.
You'd better mind, the place is "mined," although not with Claymores.

Whelp pee on divan, that's peeling brown,
That's dried poo secreted where your feet went down.
Whelp pee covers every inch of ground.
Fleas in this squeezed whelp pee!

And now my wife's bummed out, and I'm drinking these days.
My gin dependence keeps me languished in a haze.
Mutt envy—Bowser's penned, yet shouldn't feel secure.
Maybe I'll just feed and grant him the old arsenic cure.

Whelp pee on divan, that's peeling brown.
And he did salivate on my fresh ground round.
Whelp pee covers every inch of ground.
Fleas in this squeezed whelp pee!

He is a dunger and humper, and he'll pay
For peeing on my brand-new carpet from Bombay.
His days are numbered and I will settle the scores.
One night when I've wined, he's whined, they'll find him in the morgue.

Whelp-free now I am; I put him down.
I guess I could have sent him down to the pound.
Oh well, help me put him in the ground.
No more seas of whelp pee, whelp pee, whelp pee.