Changed, my baby's got jaws locked down for pain.
Now he ain't a guy nocturnally.
Uh-oh, this canine lug wants the throat of me, yeah!

Change, I used to say, "Babe, don't ever change."
But now he's found lycanthropy,
And he's like Chaney, Lon, and he's ornery, yeah!

I need some yellow sprigs of wolfbane. . .
Stinks to canines,
I'd like to love him,
But snarling isn't prim, 'snot nice; he's

Changed--my baby's got locks of pup with mange,
If he'd just blow-dry, well then, maybe
Mind I might change and shrug, "Gnaw a hole in me."

Grieve and heave each eve I smell him,
The whiff ain't sweet,
It's like his kin's den--
Reminds me that at night he likes to

Range and hobnob with dog mobs with doffed chains,
When I've caught his eye, what does he see?
I know--just chafing grub in a bowl, that's me. "Yum!"

Changed, changed like Lon. . . .