Think of a filthy creature
Like a pigeon or a rat,
With deep set eyes
And claws the size
Of Andrew Flintoff's hat.
It scuttles round the garden
Or flaps around the square
It freaks you out
And makes you shout
While pulling on your hair.
Now picture how you look to it
All large and loud and strange.
With screaming fits
I'm not sure it's
How you'd want to engage.
The beast could be called Ingrid,
Or Joy or Phil or May
And have a house
Next to a Louse
Who calls him everyday.
The beasts aren't really Vermin,
It's just a point of view.
Remember this:
With prejudice
The vermin's likely you.
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