On Sundays long ago
In the funny papers
I would read about a mythic place
Where decent folks refused to go
'twas always thirty two below
The manners of the people, a disgrace

So, in the summer they would shiver
They dined on roots and aardvark liver
At cleanliness inept
The soldiers marched in goosestep
Our cruise ship's destination missed
Which made all the passengers quite pissed
Seems Al Capp's country does exist!
We landed there today

Here's where we're staying

Fie! Fie! This Slobbovian sty!
Picturesque accommodation with a knacker's yard nigh
And those little boys distilling whiskey and rye
They were growing pot to get themselves high
Growing pot to get themselves high

If you wrote the tourist guide
This is one place you would have to hide
Keep in mind "I told you so"
Here they don't believe in civil rights
Wear jackboots in the dark of night
The rooms are bugged, that doesn't just mean mites

While the hotel staff, a mötley crüe
Sprinkle umlauts in the türtle stëw
You'll drench yourself in booze
While droning "The Summertime Blues"
And even if you do things legally
You'll get a taste of police brutality
They'll lock you up and toss the key
It means they want a bribe

They don't take glotnies

Strife! Strife! Foul corruption is rife
Mayor cheating on his mistress, making love to her wife
And the President is self-appointed for life
Better watch your back, look out for a knife
Watch your back, look out for a knife

Well, the first week all I did was groan
In a hell-hole far away from home
Hey, that's not how it ought to be
With the beaches ankle-deep in oil
And the hotel room in potting soil
Breakfast? Guess I'll have to grow my own

This hooker came around each day
So ugly, SHE would have to pay
Her offers I did spurn
No glotnies would I earn
Every morning read "The Daily Dreck"
For outbound vessels I would check
I soon became a nervous wreck
And then, the smoke, I spied

I started shouting

Dire! Dire! All the streets were on fire
Burning acres, cops in Studebakers spinning their tires
While flames were licking at the Saint Vitus spire
Daring men with ladders rescued the choir
Men with ladders rescued the choir

"Thank ye, thank ye, please to hire me, Yankee"
He blew his nose in a dirty hanky
Vork was stoned, and slow at math
My guide to all the sights
Who promised to keep me out of fights
"You'll get beaten, if you take the beaten path"

First he drove us out into the sticks
A Chrysler nineteen eighty six
Next came Saint Vitus Church
Somebody was getting the "urge"
At an unmolested altar boy
An old monsignor leered with joy
I wouldn't let him have his toy
I gave the kid my knife

Then came a news flash

Down! Down! The stock* market was down
Bankers weeping, brokers leaping, they were trying to drown
A year-long drought, and now the channel was dry
Seems that this won't be the way that they die
This won't be the way that they die

That Sunday went to the market place
A dirty, overcrowded place
With lots of useless odds and ends
I learned you must be nimble, must be quick
And wary of the sellers' tricks
Policemen are the swindlers' closest friends

There was way too much to see it all
Eight track tapes in a vendor's stall
A naked Barbie doll
Genuine Super Ball
Bought a switchblade knife like the one I'd seen
In "Rebel" with the late James Dean
Some cherry bombs, they were mighty keen
I'll have to sneak them home

And then I'll flush 'em

Rave! Rave! All the glotnies I'll save!
Found a deal so irresistible, I bought me a slave
But when I saw the the tax that I'd have to pay
I would set him free the very next day
Set him free the very next day

I met a man who had no shoes
He had hocked them for a pint of booze
I turned my head away and smirked
I'll go back to the shopping mall
Where I booked my journey just last fall
And I'll punch that travel agent, what a jerk

By now my sandals smelled like dung
And I understood their vulgar tongue
Some gutter words are spoken
It sounds a lot like chokin'
And the finest plane I ever knew
An old Junkers J.U. Fifty two
Into the sunset safely flew
I waved my slave good-bye

An advertisement

Don't miss my Slobbovian pie
With its Silly Putty texture, takes just minutes to fry
And costs a half a dozen glotnies to buy
I'm using one to swat at a fly
Using one to swat at a fly

And if you act now

Buy, buy my Slobbovian pie
A perfect bug repellant, watch 'em drop from the sky
A secret blend of fine tomacco and lye
I'm sure you'll be glad you gave it a try
You'll be glad you gave it a try.