Satan and His Spawn

I crossed a Ridgeback
with a Pit Bull Terrier.
A ridge down their back
makes 'em look even scarier.

I was hoping for a fighter
and an independent thinker.
I got a heel biter
and a half lit stinker.

He's a handsome mutt.
I gotta give him that.
Got the G.Q. cut
and not a gram of body fat.

Built like a Sherman tank
that moves like Walter Payton,
but dumber than a plank.
I named the puppy "Satan".

I threw him in the pit
to let him show his stuff,
but he's just a half-wit
that only thinks he's tough.

Couldn't lick a missing tooth.
Didn't want to muss his hair.
Should have named him "Baby Ruth"
What I need's a breeding pair.

I put the word out
for a purebred bitch.
Man, the pups she pinched out
could have made me rich


but my girl said, "They're cute!
Don't give 'em up yet."
Now the point is moot.
I guess that's what I get.

They kill the neighbors chickens.
Terrorize the hood.
Wild pigs are easy pickin's.
Should have sold 'em while I could.

Comandeered the beds?
They've comandeered the farms!
Chewed the furniture to shreds.
Got the neighbors up in arms.

They're driving me nuts.
I even got a death threat.
A bunch of handsome mutts
makes a terrible pet.

Ain't so handsome any more.
They dug bunkers in the lawn.
Looks like it's time for war
with Satan and his spawn.

I'd petition God for help
if our relationship were patched.
He'd make Satan yelp.
I'm afraid I'm overmatched.

I'd rather go to war
with an aircraft carrier
than a half-witted ridgebacked
Pit Bull Terrier.