Johnny had a job
As a newspaper boy
Up at half past six
The job brought him joy
But there was a niggling part
That he hated much
He'd been attacked each day
By each kind of damn mutt

That Fido, he's chomping down
Johnny's pissed, and he starts to shout

"Off the leg, off the leg, that's my leg!
Hey man, could you call off your dog?
Stop the bite, stop the bite, I don't like!
Hey man, could you call off your dog?
Ow!"

John then took a job
Raking leaves out in the park
Even though it's hard to see
He prefers dark
Because there's less chance
Of some bloody dog
Chomping on his arm or leg
Even worse, on his log
That'd hurt, boy!

There's no place that John can hide
Now the dogs number thirty-fiiiiive

Bulldogs bite, Great Danes bite, and pugs bite
"Hey guys, could you call ofg your dogs?"
Bloodhounds bite, beagles bite, poodles bite
"Hey guys, could you call off your dogs?
OW! Ow! Ow!"
They all bite, love to bite, but why bite?
Bloody dogs, can't sleep at night, oh

They're hunting in packs after me
You think I'm scared? No shit, Sherlock
Their teeth are sharp, yeah
Sense of smell tracks my movement
All for no reason!

Johnny's plight, is my plight, I'm him, right
Oh crap, there's a large pack of dogs!
Hate the bite, hate the bite, dislike bites
Oh crap, sev'ral packs of large dogs!

[various shouting as I run away from the bloody dogs]