don't let rats get to your cheese tray
and then call me as you try to pull it away
reading out to me the wiki on the muroidea superfamily
through tears begging me to understand
exactly why innocence no longer is a valuable brand
for a twenty year old with perpetually nothing to wear
cheese balls perpetually melting as the long-tailed rodents stare

the romantically-flavored humor of fruity drinks and tipsy winks
no longer inspire in me a good-ole country boy fascination
and to fall into a hot humid trap, escape from which requires castration

so excuse me as i end the call, despite my resolution to appear polite
i've now discovered that a man must do what he knows is right
before life runs out and leaves only a "no, please"

it's too late, darling, to save the cheese