Bark-bark-bark-bark-bark-bark-bark-bark-bark-bark-bark-bark.
My shar-pei is sore, because I won’t let him play.
My shar-pei is sore; now as if at the moon he bays.
My shar-pei is sore; after he has barked a whole lot more,
canine revenge is what’s then in store;
so he takes a dump upon the floor—
and it with my shoe I find.

It’s a crap day; at least it didn’t hit both feet.
As I clean up, he is going on a spree.
My shar-pei drops more. It looks like a battlefield in war—
I hope there won’t be a shoe encore—
I walk among plank mines.
Ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-caca.

In a bummed way, I scream in a voice very loud.
In a gun way, I will do something that I’ve vowed.
My shar-pei drips gore from the bullet that did deeply bore
into him; it’s canines nevermore.
A feline will be mine.
Ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-cat.