He lives under my bed
And he sleeps on the couch
Even when he's fed
He's still kind of a grouch
He'll take one at a time
Or maybe two or three
He won't pay a dime
He thinks they're free
He hasn't a name
But I call him Bob
He thinks it's a game
When my pens he does rob
He hasn't any manners
He doesn't say please
He takes my pens from my planners
And then he flees
What does he look like
If only he would ask
I wish he would go on strike
And take off that mask