It looks like what he’s gonna do
is likely to increase my ire.
Bad enough that he drops doo
on my lawn to make the grass expire.

Hey, doggy, don’t bite my tire,
hey, doggy, don’t bite my tire.
Your car-chasing fans my ire.

The time to urinate’s past due—
that also makes the lawn expire.
The rubber’s a yellow hue;
of spraying you never seem to tire.

Hey, doggy, don’t bite my tire,
hey, doggy, don’t bite my tire.
If I had a gun, I’d fire.

Time to retaliate’s past due
if you from this act won’t retire.
You could be a ruddy hue,
or I could bury you in the mire.

Doggy, if you bite my tire,
you’re gonna inflame my ire.
From this act I won’t retire.
Grab gat, situation’s dire:
Out the car’s window I fire.