Bring on the Klingons but no Vogons
If they don’t disturb you, your soul is gone
And Eccentrica Gallumbits
Would give up at least one tit
Just to never hear their poets
Please no Vogons

Don’t mind mad Martians, but no Vogons
Those words, in that order, it’s oh so wrong
I’d prefer three days of Bieber
Or my eyes scratched by a lemur
Or all winter in Siberia
Please no Vogons

Well they always have a reason
Like that’s how things are done
They are not big fans of fun
They need you to behave
They’re paper-pushing slugs
Yeah, but speech comes from their tongues
Just to make space for their fleet
They’d destroy the moon and sun
They’re annoying everyone
Makes them boil up with pride
They’re gross in and outside
That’s why if you see one run
Unpleasant’s an understatement
I don’t know how they mate with
Each other, and as for their poems
Nobody’s got the patience
The Pillsbury Doughboy
Would say hee hee I hate this
You can hit me with shoes - cleats
Or make my family boo me
Whatever you do, please
Don’t let them read to me
It stinks far worse than dookie
Just one stanza would ruin me

The Borg are better, please no Vogons
Their writing’s so boring yet they drone on
I would rather have cash plunder
And then ruin it all with chunder
Than hear them say even one word
I loathe Vogons

Bring on the Klingons but no Vogons
If they don’t disturb you, your soul is gone
And Eccentrica Gallumbits
Would give up at least one tit
Just to never hear their poets
Please no Vogons

One poet’s worse but she’s not close to here
Two lines of verse I might tear off my ear
Screams only hurt since they’d pump up the volume
So my throat hurts half as much as my ears
Puns nonexistent in their mind attack
Why do they write? That is really quite clear
To make you wish you’re buried in a small tomb
And not living life right now ‘cause the dead can’t hear
Oh, no, here’s Vogon Jeltz, talking about open welts
Lucky me, now I know, he’s got two and both smell
I’d rather be anywhere, even the Bates Motel
Than by Vogons and their poems, I gotta go like Modell’s
Like Chuck says it’s turble, wash my ears with Purel
Still won’t fix the brain pain, in my soul there’s pure ache
All these failed metaphors make me wish they were chordates
They have no spine and that’s not fine, oh lord why did you forsake?

Bring on the Klingons but no Vogons
If they don’t disturb you, your soul is gone
And Eccentrica Gallumbits
Would give up at least one tit
Just to never hear their poets
Please no Vogons

Don’t mind mad Martians, but no Vogons
Those words, in that order, it’s oh so wrong
I’d prefer three days of Bieber
Or my eyes scratched by a lemur
Or all winter in Siberia
Please no Vogons

Someone shatter both my eardrums, I cannot stand to hear much
More blathering from slugs, and they won’t take silence serum
It’s not like I’ve got that, if I did they’d refuse it
They have got the type of mind from which there can’t be music
Is this making me stupid? Cause I do not get
Why no other alien races destroyed the Vogons yet
I wish this ship had Jedi, sure could use Obi Won
To hit them with his light stick so no more from Vogons

Bring on the Klingons but no Vogons
If they don’t disturb you, your soul is gone
And Eccentrica Gallumbits
Would give up at least one tit
Just to never hear their poets
Please no Vogons

The Borg are better, please no Vogons
Their writing’s so boring yet they drone on
I would rather have cash plunder
And then ruin it all with chunder
Than hear them say even one word
I loathe Vogons