Yer Pug

Yer pug’s too fat
Yer pug’s too fat
It’s going to have a pugly heart attack
Be nice to yer pug and feed it right
Then it’ll bark at noises in the night

Yer pug’s too round
Yer pug’s too round
It ate a lump of cheese it found
Under the fridge (its tongue stretches far
I’ve seen it empty a marmalade jar)

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Yer pug can’t run
Yer pug can’t run
It just waddles and that’s not fun
Happy dogs roam without a care
But yer pug needs a wheelchair

Yer pug is sad
Yer pug is sad
It loves you dearly but you treat it bad
You feed it scraps under the table
This is why yer pug’s disabled

Yer pug can’t scratch
Yer pug can’t scratch
It’s evil when it’s got an itch
And is denied that glorious release
Because it’s terminally obese

Yer pug’s too fat
Yer pug’s too fat
There’s no denying that
So separate it from the fridge
Before it crosses the rainbow bridge