Weasel

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