I’m black and yellow or sometimes white
I move real slow, through crevices tight.
Though I’m peaceful, I’m a carnivore
But when I’m hungry, on snails I bite.
I don’t speak much, I can be a bore
Sand and rock, make up my Ocean’s floor.
At night my angina, is the worst
When I’ll die, I’ll end up on your shore.
You’ll pick me up, my shell is your first
A great life I lived, but now I’m cursed.
In your pocket, I rest with wet sand
Funny your pocket, is now my hearse.
But when we get home, I’m in your hand
My shell now cleaned, no longer I’m damned.
My life as a shell, it will be grand
Better than being, a snail that’s canned.