Pumpkin, Pumpkin, peter eater,
Had a slot with a mileage meter,
Got her dough from many a cheater,
Who'd pay big time to meat her.

She grew a rash down on her seater,
which led her pimp to fuckin'  beat her.
Pumpkin pulled her shiney heater,
And shot that rotten Wallmart greeter.

Now Pumpkin is an avid reader,
Of the Weekly Prison sheet here,
She became the local birdie feeder,
And now is eatin' only salted peter!

Her job is poundin' bread, a kneader.
Now that her rash has left her seater,
And no one here has come to meet her,
Her only vice is pumpin' tetters.


The guards all think it's somewhat neater,
To see her  fillin' half a liter,
Than payin' many bucks to pete her.
Pumpkin, Pumpkin, peter eater.