Now, I know ya’ll fearful of dem spiders,Â
But I gots to say, one visited me today,
Creep’n up on my walk’n time a think’n.
And it took a glance to smile by its eyes,
Dey can be cute in der own delicate way,
Like a jump’n spider’s black ball’n eyes.
Now, many in Kittywoof think spiders need an instant squash’n,
But I’m a Pumpkinhead, and fear’n spiders raised me in my patch,
Oh yes, till I rolled free, I was a grow’n head of tangled webs ya see.
And spiders, well, they tan’t so bad, and they’z usually knows a lot about a thing,
Its cause der always tangled in a fearish web, dats how they get to fast a’know’n,
And dez the ones been keeping dis Kittywoof together while de rest trashed it loud.
A spider is a spiritual be’n you see, more a feel’n of webs than mask’n depths of a soul,
Dats why they knows what’s going on in you, you're tangled, and their webs be tensing.
They are the kindest creatures, so slender and delicate, yet dey can twist you up quick,
So ya gotta watch too, dey like to send info down their webs, try’n to get you network’d.
An’ once they got ya tangled, a living feeding can begin on your soul,
Oh yes, but don’t worry, they don’t want you dead, quite the opposite,
They want you a fresh living meal, lasting a long and delicious time,
Dats why you should listen to em too, they’ll try extend your lifeline.
A spider can be a cute face,
Its creep can fill you fearishly,
Its webs can wrap you as meal,
Its knowledge refine your soul,
And der tangle can welfare a life.
But, a Creep of Spinning Spiders,
Well, dat be something else entirely,
And dat be a big problem in Kittywoof.
Knock, knock, Pumpkinhead fool,
Pumpkinhead, can you hear me?
Cause I think you're just full of air,
But I'm here to play a bitter game.
And I know it's coming time of year,
Where pranks and scares abound us,
But why that spindle swiveling weird?
Ah, here jostling to prepare a meal of royal hallow,
Yet they clack'n dat knee left into a fearish hobble,
Ohh right, it's just another slender a’creepn spider,
A tangled network of fear, and so hungry, m'dear.
Gotta worry, Beard's box-dye-black witch's stare is tryn to cackle my eye insecure,
deGrees keeps an off-knocker Lainey-Bat close handy, twisting up untied pumpkins,
She's even got a gassy travel’n broomwagon to tempt this tawny’s wistful first date.
They trying to bag-a-head and bake a dumb Pumpkinhead cake!
Dem types always willing to shred open up a shrew-looking veg,
And a Pumpkinhead be a fine patch atop a lufty Prince's airhead.
And yet, whenever they punch at shelled edge,
Smashing at this stupid orange, sorelined face,
Their hands only slime of seedy-sticky disgrace.
But Beard deGrees knows how to shuffle stick a motley hallow crew,
A rabid pack of black and white always been their dull mindless rue,
With bully mouths and secret ears bending in a'creeper listening way,
And like no haunting before, did they treat on the poor's spiritual sways.
It’s troubl’n too, cause if Fur Pepe Pigeonrat of Rottenseed amoks freely,Â
I’m not too sure anyone will think clearly in such a grand wafting smellery.
So, gotta tell ya true, this damn Pumpkinhead is tired of wolfish bullying ways,
Thou, admittedly, a Beard moans on moon nights, becoming an excitable pup,
But a Pigeonrat only rolls thicker into sewer shit, plaguing everyone around him.
Best part of being a Pumpkinhead used to be,
You got to fill your empty head with anything,
Toxicated on whatever, till it flow'd out ur eyes.
But a rancid raty smell'n is a-coming,
So I gotta mind da patch to still breath.
And while a night sighting of a haunting can be sumthin daunting, coming at ya all a’sudden,
This here Pumpkinhead knows; a rolling, open-mouthed shit-for-seeds…is frightening indeed.
All along, this dumb Pumpkinhead Twirl only wanted to spring a field bountiful,
Rest’n growth under the sun, brush’n neighbours, and fruit’n all ova-da place.
If it waddles like a duck, ruffles into an airy feather, smiles wide for a bill,
If it honks loud as an overhead flyer, choosing to dart about the place,
Then ya, looks like you might be dealing with a really colourful quacker.
But have you seen that trim duck's godlessly-made counterpart?
Who could know what sorta lineage that birdshit muddled from.
Why, that walking allofeed believes it’s a reasoning-feeling animal,
Really, it’s a mangy sewer pigeon of heavenly gildy-girth descension.
And it stinks as it waddles, beaking for old men’s seedy breadcrumbs,
I don’t think it's ever washed its git’l feathers- and it certainly can’t fly.
It’s as dumb as the road it foots, crumb’n up soppy-wet off cold brick,
And it roams with a pack of sweaty mangy rats, each a slick old finger.
I suppose, at least a honky Prince attempts a ruffled-collar mating dance,
But an idiot sewer pigeon with a rat pack will stink-up all Kittywoof Kingdom,
Plus, a Pigeonrat can’t dance, only slather for dry coin seeds sprinkl’n down.Â
And, as just another dumb roaming Pumkinhead,
I’d ruffle a fancy duck any day and watch it flap,
But a sweaty Pigeonrat is the stickiest toucher.
You've all heard that say'n:
"A feather can brush off easy,
But git'l slime lingers forever."