The trail he left behind him was so obvious to see
No-one could miss the clues for it's the place he used to be
He slithered round the garden eating everything he saw
He'd even get inside your house by squeezing 'neath the door
And where he left his calling card of slime and little else
It made you so intensely mad, you thought that you could help
So armed with beer and and a little trap, you followed on his trail
Thinking you would catch him up, and kill that flipping snail
Slug or snail, you didn't care, you'd stop him in his tracks
Kill the little bleeder, that would stop him coming back
Leaving trails along the way, and sure that you would follow
For if you kill a score today, they will be lots more tomorrow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem