Here's something I wrote a few years ago when our neighbourhood was afflicted with a very peculiar kind of voyeur. It goes to the tune of Secret Love.

Once I caught a peeping Tom,
Who strove my naked form to see.
Can you believe that anyone
Would sink to such depravity?

Yet he peered behind parked cars,
Through night-time binoculars,
Beneath the canopy of stars,
That were watching over me.

Now he's climbed up in my highest tree.
Slipped on the mossy bark and down crashed he.
Concussed, nonplussed. Flat on the floor.
Now this peeping Tom can't peep straight anymore.