Vole army, oh no!
Can't farm me no-o-o-oats.
They try my patience, this crowd
Of crazed rodents chewing so loud.
They can bring my crops low;
It's just like they've been mowed down;
It just drove me out of my mind.
I had peas in profusion; naught left but effluvium behind.
When they herded together for splurged grazing pleasure, I whined:

Vole army, uh oh!
Can't farm me no-o-o-groats.
They plunder; I'm hapless to bring
Them to a hard reckoning.
Yo pienso que el venemo,
Necesito para vencer ratones de campo
Que comen mis comestibles que yo he crecido
De solamente las semillas; estoy cabreado.
[I believe poison will play a role
In vanquishing this vast army of veggie-voracious voles
That are demonically devouring my delicious crop,
Nurtured from seed; their murderous feeding makes me blow my top.]

Vole army, go, go,
Si contame cabreado.
Veo ahora rojo,
Rojo en cada ojo
Por ratones de campo;
En sus hoyos yo pongo muchos explosivos para los matar, yo creo.
Es sobre-capacidad de exterminación, pero
Mi humor ahora está un poquito mas que feo.
[Yes, count me as being PO'd,
So much that I'm seeing red
While wretched rodents are fed.
Vile revenge is now my goal.
I'll thus put an excess, a surfeit, of explosives into each and every hole--
Overkill, yes, but oh, it will terminate each and every vole.
My mood ain't good; I'm seeing so red I'm nearly blind as a mole.]

Vole army, blow blow:
Can't find me no-o-o motes.
They're sundered, my happy heart sings;
Concussion in my head rings.
Into scintillae they blew;
I'll sip on a victory brew.