I'm flyin' clear to the shore of Lake Jeffy
I sink I swim to lunch
I'm dryin' here, you naughty sun!
My sausage needs a bun

I can't play with your wife, Bogart, while she's Lauren in Bacall
I can't say I adore beans, cuz it's Miller Time, doll
I said I cried I cast a curse again but I'm feelin' a little small
I think I'll go grab a beer, can, I can?

Ran out of moo goo gai pan
In a little big high chair
With a fiddle of elongated jeers
Underwear for Jack like a Jill
I said I'm bakin' beak fritters, to beak not to bill
To beak not to bill

I heaven moo divine sprockets bereft me
Isthmus boogey-bong drip
Olive the Garden bills, who had condiments?
Matey, Ishmael et some kelp

I can't Klaatu borada, Gort, there's a cuckoo in Midwich
I can't wazoo to Walgreen's, Abercrombie, and Fitch
I bed I board I bawl "Averse!" (amend) putt peas, tee in a piddle ditch
I think I fret Brady fear, Jan not Jan

Ran outran Granny-brand bran
To kadiddle ol' fro-hair
In a skittle pool of pus-flated sneers
Richard Gere and Cecil DeMille
I said I'm fakin' Dean Witters, to Dean not to deal
To Dean not to deal

Run mustard fast, Izzy can
Tofu griddle we go there
To the sizzle of asparagus spears
And I swear you're flustered like Phil
I said I'd knit you a sweater, you sweat not you chill
You sweat not you chill

I can't say impolite retorts, the aborted memes of Rick
I obey only Lorne Greene, all his bacon is thick
And Ted and Clyde and Paul traverse the den for a zapper to point and click
I think Mr. Belvedere is Batman

Rub just a fester I skin
To a gopher of no fair
Tuna vittles of masticated steers
And I spare, you bowl like Hank Hill
I wed a Quaker jet-setter, to cat not catskill
To cat not catskill

Fun is a bastard named Dan
Tori Spelling or Blofeld
Trudy giggles at masturbating peers
And I wear your bustier, Bill
Othello's makin' me wetter, to wee not refill
To wee not refill

Ran, and I ran to Iran
Told a riddle to Moliere
To the piddle of his flatulent cheers
And I share my George Foreman grill
We marinate a poinsettia, it makin' we ill
It makin' we ill

Ran out of moo goo gai pan
In a little big high chair
With a fiddle of elongated jeers