King John the guinea pig who lives in our backyard
Is finding his retirement pretty hard

Confined within a cage upon our lawn
Now throne and crown and kingdom all are gone.

O'erthrown by brother cavies in a putsch
Condemned to exile in this lonely hutch

With all his kingly triumphs proud and free
Now consigned to rodent memory.

His day begins with pellets, dry and round
And bits of lettuce scattered on the ground

The morning's spent in treading on the wheel
To pass the time before the midday meal

Then after lunch without disdain or rage
He royally relaxes in his cage.

But come the night, as soon as darkness falls
He hurls himself against the wire walls

And cries aloud - so pitiful a thing!
The mournful squealing of a captive king.

He finds no sleep, no spouse, no child, no friend
Alone beneath a blanket, waiting for the end.

And when at last it's done, the long sad night
He closes both his eyes against the light

To spare himself, he cannot bear the dawn
Now throne and crown and kingdom all are gone.

Thus lives King John, in courage and in pain
So distant from the wonders of his reign

Let all who pass behold his noble stare
And know this is a guinea pig - BEWARE!