It’s good to meet you; I’m the grower of that garden.
It’s less green, from your gnawing, and that grieves me.
Your greed, groundhog, goes against my grain.
Put simply: your gut got you caught.
I found my gentle growths grabbed from the soil.
You grazing ingrate: you woodchucking, whistle-pigging, tail-less beaver! My greens are gone and I’m galled.
I’m through with groveling, groundhog, it’s time to go,
For me to grab my gun and get you to your grave.
Guilt? Me? I’m guilt-free: I gotta do what I gotta do.
Because the only good groundhog is… well… you can guess.