Beavers are work-tards, as busy as bees
building great dams up wherever they please
they swim with their noses stuck out of the water
and chastise their cousin, the ne’er-do-well otter.
I don’t like beavers—I hate them, in fact.
They’re buck toothed and witch-eyed, their tails are all flat.
They won’t let you pet them; they aren’t good to eat;
you won’t get good luck if you cut off their feet.
Beaver tails bring you five dollars apiece
down at the courthouse from the chief of police.
I set a fine beaver trap in a ditch
but I could not catch one. Ain’t life a bitch?