He's terrorized the neighbors.
Tortured all their pets.
Molested all the little girls.
Must be those pills he gets.

Things have gotton out of hand
if truth, in truth, be told. 
It's hard to understand
how this little twelve year old

could be a son of mine.
Filled with God's own wrath.
The doctors say, "He's fine!
He's just a psychopath."

With a high I.Q..
A low self esteem.
A sense of humor too?
Oh yeah!
He's just a scream.

Like his brother was before.
I'm crying out for help.
Too big to beat him anymore.
I should kill the little whelp.

I could chop him into pieces.
(he loves to feed the fish)
Or mix him with three cheeses
for a nice Italian dish.

Try out that new mixer
with some secret sweets and sours.
Makes a marvelous elixir.
Works wonders on the flowers.

Nah!

I'll think I'll use the shredder.
Worked perfect on his brother.
That'd be so much better.
I'm a very thoughtful mother.