Burn a mound, roast on the pyre, cook ’em up now.
Burn a mound, dirt to not view, evil renown.
The flames lick up to the stratosphere,
as you watch ’em, think of it as a bibliobier.
So burn a mound: pile it up on the ground.
Flames go so high. Burn a mound.

Together with a likeminded crowd, burning mounds, burning mounds.
Burn a mound: in this place we’ve all made a vow.
Light ’em up, get matches on the ball, then watch the flames lick up.
We’re gonna have such a ball, such a ball,
So burn a mound; pyre will dry out the ground;
temp will go high, burn a mound.

Together with a likeminded crowd, libris flaming.
Burn a mound—flames lick up; listen to the sound—
pitch low, not high—burn a mound.
Together with a likeminded crowd, listen, flames lick.
Burn a mound: folios that are so unsound.
Eyes we close, then burn a mound.
Together with a closeminded crowd, gathered ’round.
Flames licking so high now.

Scurrilousness stamped out: that’s our flame vow;
those tomes are the pyre’s chow. . .never gonna stamp flames out, out out!
Those words unsound: throw ’em on there, pound after pound
and don’t be shy: burn a mound.
Together with a closeminded crowd, flickin’ their Bics.
Burn a mound—tomes we must fry, protect the town;
closed are our minds. . .burn a mound.
Together with a likeminded crowd burning mounds.
Burn a mound, burning up junk that we find unsound.