Now somewhere in the dark, dirty streets of Reseda
There lived an old nut named Ricky the Goon
And one day, his humor ran out on the printed page
Hit old Ricky in the ribcage, Ricky didn't write that
He said, "I'm gonna mock this group"
So one day he sat himself down
Cackling like a loon, wrote a little cartoon

Ricky the Goon checked off every tune
Each time he wrote a new parody
Ricky had wit and tried to use it
But only for Beatle songs cared he

His humor it seems was his only means
Of making his life have some meaning
He started to find a very warped mind
Toward which was already leaning

Now it was absurd, but he wrote down the words
But none of them ever got published
They offered no cash, and called his stuff trash
And threw all his poems in the rubblish

Now, the doctor proclaimed his mind has been maimed
And proceeded to have him committed
He said, "Rick, you make bad jokes"
And Ricky said "Doc, just look at my folks
And I will thank you, as soon as I'm admitted"

Now Ricky the goon sat back in his room
And found that his words were sarcastic
There is no real cure for his thoughts impure
Or a style that's described as bombastic

But now Ricky's found a match for his sound
A crazy but musical flutist
She laughed at his spoofs and took part in the goofs
And both of them think they're the cutest