I'm gonna take a stab at this Junkyard Poetry thing.

After Midnight wierd things happen,
My stomach turns, I start crappin',
Must of been the dinner I ate,
Cat poop and house plants, my tummy they hate.

After Midnight, don't pour water on me,
For I'll turn into a gremlin you see,
I'll tear the living room into little bits,
and cover the carpet with many o' shits.