A rooster, a snake ’r, even a poll-taker!
He wooed ’er, he charmed ’er; so far he ain’t harmed ’er.
He’s large—so! Man? Oh no! Crazy’s how she did go
(’dja make ’er?!).

Of her need, clearly she’s
on a date with lobo beau.
She says she loves him so;
inevitably he’ll maul.
Body hair up stands.
Tropical oil? He can’t be tanned—
hair fits him like a glove.
I’d be miffed if they were to be banns’d,
she and her lobo beau.

A rube ’r a rake ’e, even a meth-maker—
each could woo her or charm her. . .probably not harm her.
But ah no! It ain’t so, baby just had to go
for one on whom we all frown: a lobo beau.
This match can’t last. . .
they can’t go to a show
’cause everyone would know
she’d found a lobo beau.
Not man physique. . .
a monster-partner freak.

That means he and she
aren’t a perfect pair, nosiree!
Not yet is she a vittles victim of lycanthropy.
Can’t have noon delight,
just wails on moonlit nights.
He’s a mercurial “guy”
who’ll get a thought to kill “contract” eye.
Please dump your lobo beau!

It’s useless: she’s taken; all of us forsaken.
He ain’t toothless, he’s couthless and prone to claw rakin’.
He laugh? No! Moon-howls, though.

Ahooooooooooooo!
He’s gonna bay at night, her lobo beau.
And his repast
some night might be her toe.
At daybreak, where’s she go,
she and her lobo beau?

Paws, those prints. . .
with those claws he could mince
her body, although
he ain’t yet killed her, lobo beau.
But when he’d wanna go—
for him the best place of all:
where, voce goes sotto.

He’d chew ’er, he’d rake ’er with those claws, corpse-maker.
Why’d he woo ’er and charm ’er? Why not a nice farmer?!
He far go? Mons breached? Oh
I pray that it ain’t so!

From humps might grow and come out: bebé lobo.
It’s time to blast—
only with silver, though. . .
an argentine slug go straight into lobo beau.

He’d chewed ’er, thus made ’er into a night raider.
He’d woo’d her, bad karma. Now she pretty? Naw, naw!
She’ll far go for hemo, tasty as a hero.
Shooooooooooooot! Then waste her after you get lobo beau.