There was a dead rat
Beneath the windows of my building
Of my building, of my building
And the children would point sticks at it
And poke
And when it got itself
All frozen-dead the night before
While Mr. Jones and Miss Gonzales were out
Having a good smoke, having a good smoke
Oh, Charlie with the walker
Was out thinking in Milwaukee
As he downed another thirty-century beer
And so he hadn’t noted
That the cold winds were the closest
And so he hadn’t noticed
That the night was drawing near
But what’s one less in a world of so many
When only mushroom clouds can leave ripples on our souls
What’s one less?
Either way, we got a mess
And no one hears the call
Anymore, anymore, anymore, anymore
There was a dead rat
Beneath the windows of my building
Of my building, of my building
And the children would point sticks at it
And poke
And when it got itself
All frozen-dead the night before
While Mr. Jones and Miss Gonzales were out
Having a good smoke
Having a good smoke

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