It’s almost dinner, and I really
Hope my Mom is making chili!

If she does, I’ll sing and shout
So loud she’ll tell me, “Cut it out!”
But by then, I’ll be in the street
“Chili!” I’ll cheer, and stomp my feet
All down the block, I’ll dance and skip
Although it’s dark, so I may trip
And crash into my neighbor Chip
Who’ll probably fall and break his hip
But before anything can be done
The police will show up, and I’ll run
I’ll try to hide with my friend Rich
Whose annoying brother Todd will snitch
So yet again I’ll have to flee
I’ll end up in some dark alley
I’ll eat rat soup and live in a box
I’ll wash in a drain and I’ll sleep on rocks
Then one day, I’ll get sick and die
Oh where did I go wrong? And, why?

Mom’s calling me — and she made chili!
…I’m scared my Mom is trying to kill me

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