What if I could get back at my beast for picking on me?

What if the beast with three teeth was picking on me?

He slid out from under the bed just to give me a wedgie.

I told him to go away, I didn’t want to play

He just laughed and then he said my room was smelly.

What does he expect, my rooms always a wreck

And its chock full of every if and or butt.

Now he’s having his laugh, but I’m about to release my wrath

Bet he’ll never expect me to give him a bath!

He hates getting wet, and always starts to fret

I’ll just laugh and then tell him he’s smelly.

He lives on the floor and should know what’s in store

When he crawls through dirt, grime and smut!