Oh Donnie boy, the vet, the vet is calling
To neuter you, so you’ll no longer roam.
The moment’s come; it’s time for your de-balling.
It’s best for you that you stick close to home.
Though come ye back when you cannot make babies;
From empty sacks your seed you will not sow.
You and Le Roi could still stay buddies maybe
But Donnie boy, oh Donnie boy, your balls must go.