THE GARDEN PEST

I've bought myself a barbecue
With charcoal that you light;
I'm going to stink my neighbours out
On every summer's night.

I'm going to turn the gardens blue
With choking greasy smoke,
And if they've got their washing out
I'll see that as a joke!

The acrid fumes will fill their rooms
Through windows open wide;
While all the sausages burn black
And yet stay raw inside.

The burgers will become like coal,
Kebabs like meteorite;
I must prolong this ghastly pong
To smoulder through the night.

But if the shrubbery gets hot
And sparks set it alight,
I'll have myself a bonfire too -
And blight their balmy night!