Why smash your stuff to smithereens?
Some chalked it up to angry genes,
Some swore her temper came from stress,
Some said she had bad PMS.
Some blamed that rat she used to date,
He left her for a squirrel named Kate,
Others said it was her job,
Assistant to a pig named Bob.
But could they make her feel so blue
that she'd rip her best things in two?
It wasn't clear. You can't blame them.
Maybe she needed Sarafem!
The rabbit's therapist, of course,
Had told her never to use force.
Whenever she was feeling blue,
She had to find something to do.
"Use emotions productively!
The peacock struts seductively!
The lion roars! The caged bird sings!
Instead of breaking all their things!"
But when a dozen things got broke,
The rabbit laughed, it was a joke!
And then she'd go out to the store,
And come home with a dozen more!