In the south of Florida,

 They’re pesky bugs.

 They get in your house, then your room, then your rugs.

And after the rugs,

These pesky bugs,

These evil ants,

 They’ll get in your pants.

If they get in your pants,

 They will make you do their evil dance,

As if you had a lobster in your pants.

They would make you jump,

They would make you scratch,

They would make you unleash their evil wrath!

In case you haven’t guessed,

We’re dealing with the best:

The evil red ants,

That are made with fire,

And are after your pants.

These fire ants are more evil still,

Because they’re hard to stop

 And they’re hard to kill

You can stomp them, spray them,

And slam them in a door,

And even then they’ll come back for more.

If you see the little patches of dirt,

 Be aware, you might be hurt.

Because that is where they reside,

Waiting for someone to walk on by.

Original poem by my son who has felt the wrath of these fiendish fire ants.

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