A raccoon rifles through my outside trash
Disturbing a meal that I paid for in cash
With eyes that roll back and an utterance crass,
I state my detest at the thought of it's actions
Searching below to find solace in scraps
While I whine from inside that I have no time to fast
All empathy is slain by the size of my slacks
And all apathy is gained by the turning of my back
What reason have I to not sympathize?
What reason have I to not realize
that the raccoon in my trash is much more than a mammal
The raccoon in my trash is a man

There's no pleasing the miser, he will always feel poor
There's no pleasing the miser, he will always want more