I Had a Little Weasel

By Brenda Chapman

I had a little weasel;
Its teeth were sharp as knives.
And everywhere my weasel went
The locals lost their lives.

It was a tiny weasel —
It really meant no harm.
But people would not listen
With it hanging off their arm.

I lost my little weasel —
It was the saddest day.
A chewed-up fellow helped him
On his spiritual way.

He went to weasel heaven
(Or was it weasel hell?).
We all have our opinions
But I wish some wouldn't tell.

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