In an attic room in a leafy crescent
Something stirs which isn't pleasant
Belches, squelches, goes tumescent
Werewolf? No it's an adolescent….

From here on in, you're on your own
It's anti social, fully grown
It's most coherent sound's a moan
Unless of course it's on your phone
I'd hate to add to any fears
But since you're on the brink of tears
It hangs around for several years
And fills your house with all Its peers
Who chip your mugs
And burn your rugs
Then steal your jugs
To mix their drugs
You'll plead "For Christsakes - not in here!" 
That's when they take it up a gear
By mixing acid, whizz and beer
To add the element of fear
And where'd you start with all of that
A bawling out? A cosy chat?
Like, "Don't give sulphate to the cat".
Or just move out and get a flat
There's no escape- just wait and see
But slash your wrists and instantly
And if you'll take a tip from me
You'll do it while the bathroom's free.

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