Don’t glorify games on the grass, it’s just dirt
with a bat and a ball, you’re just begging to be hurt,
and that sweltering summertime sun will exert
that sickening sensation of sweat on my shirt.
With that dreadful disturbing dog I should play,
that pooch from the pound, that repulsive stray.
He slobbers his smelly saliva my way,
and his soaking wet skin always smells of decay.
Damien’s Dad has a deck and a pool
while we bake in our backyard, believe me it’s cruel.
It’s my fate, I’ll forgive you, my family, if you’ll
keep me comfortable in air conditioning cool.