If God wants my job he can have it.
I’m sick of protecting these rabbits.
They’re cuter than whales,
And lizards and snails,
But are developing disturbing bad habits.
It’s all down to the spaces they’re filling,
And the areas to which they are spilling;
They are beginning to be
Found living at sea,
And indigenous life forms they’re killing.
You see when they were originally made
There was no way for them to upgrade,
But for some reason now
They’re evolving know how
Of wisdom initially forbade.
So I’ve lost all control of migrations,
And the subsequent ill implications,
And will now refrain
From raising again
Easter bunnies and all their relations.
And you can tell the Lord of my decision,
And he can call to discuss my position,
And if he can stop
Them bastards that hop
Then he’s welcome to their supervision.
But he’ll have a hard time with restraining
The levels of stock they’re maintaining;
Over ground and below,
Overseas and at home,
And everywhere else that’s remaining.
And you know what he’ll find in the morning,
When he rises to let the new dawn in;
Bucks and their mates,
At his Pearly Gates,
Fucking each other and spawning.