Oh why have you called, you lard brained tongue
Oh why have you called, you will hate this one...

I've jangled the nerves of 12 vestal virgins
I've talked with and busted 16 crooked con men
I've slept in a puddle next to my wife Doris
I've been on the outside of a dozen glazed donuts
And it's a lard, it's a lard, it's a lard, it's a lard
It's a lard brain who's gonna call

Oh, what did I see, you lard brained tongue?
Oh what did I see, you wheezin' black lung?

I saw a Jew born baby, with a foreskin still on it
I saw a highway of dyed blondes, with no brain upon it
I saw a smack ranch, while orange sunshine trippin'
I saw a room fulla drunk men, their bladders a leakin'
I saw nuns with sharp rulers, slap hands offa children
And it's a lard, it's a lard, it's a lard, it's a lard,
It's a lard brain, who's gonna call

And what did I hear, you lard brained tongue?
And what did I hear, you big pile of dung?

I heard the sound of a butt-burst, roar out with no warnin'
I heard the roar of a stomach, that redefined hurl
I heard one hundred lepers, whose ears were all missin'
I heard ten thousand hare-lips, and they were all lispin'
I heard one person barf, I heard many more gaggin'
I heard the dong of John Bobbit, as it hit the gutter
I heard the sound of Lorena, who fled down the alley
And it's a lard, it's a lard, it's a lard, it's a lard,
It's a lard brain, who's gonna call

Oh, who did I meet, you lard brained tongue?
Oh, who did I meet, you Chinee We Hung?

I met a dung pile, decidedly phony
I met a red man, who rode a white hog
I met a woman, whose teeth were a turnin'
I met a dumb girl, who raved at my brainglow
I met one man, who yanked it with gloves
I met another man, whose mother said Kate said

It's a lard, it's a lard, it's a lard, it's a lard
It's a lard brain, who's gonna call

Oh, what'll I do now, you lard brained tongue?
Oh, what'll I do now, now that my brain's sprung?

I'm going to shut up, before you start bawling
I've talked 'bout the family of sexy dear Doris
Where the people are zany, and their tongues are on backward
Where the moshpits of Poison are all filled with potheads
And the prostitutioner's fate, is always well ridden
Where the plunger is handy, when bowls start to rotten
Where the crack of the plummer, gets shown what a whomper
And I'll smell it and stink it and reek it and heave it
Then I'll stand without motion, until I start pukin'
Is this a wrong number? I guess I'll stop speakin
It's a lard, it's a lard, it's a lard, it's a lard
It's a lard brain, who's gonna call