The Pickleweasel

He’s coloured green and purple
And lives deep underground
He takes his victims skulls
And piles them in a mound
His unsuspecting prey
He kidnaps in the night
And takes them to his burrow
Lit by lantern light

He is the pickleweasel
He’ll get you in your sleep
And skin you all alive
And eat your fucking feet
He pickles all the corpses
And hangs them from the ceiling
He is weasel king
And everyone’s kneeling

He sits upon his throne
With a skull full of whisky
He’s also quite partial
To the polish beer tyskie
He offers all his prayers
To chuck norris, the weasel god
And people say his moon dance
Is beautiful but odd