Little Red Runt

No? You don't have pity on me? You should! I'm sure you'd rather be a stick of wood Food that doesn't smell so good, if you could ~ Rather than be me ... Spend your days rained on, snowed on Hailed on, stepped on -- why stop here? -- Spat on, urinated and dumped on ~ Sniff my coat of rancid beer What I've suffered, what I have endured From yellow rivers to cursed curs' turds -- The very thought of it all is too gross for words