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