It's kind of freaky; in fact, deranged--
Don't want to know how Ted Williams feels.
I don't want my pate placed in a nitrogen tun,
So please don't freeze me.
Cryogeny I don't think has been proved. . .
Not like freezing a stem-cell line.
I don't want my noggin removed--

My head's to put a hat on. We've been estranged;
Dad-daughter tensions were mounting.
You claim that I wanted you to be born as a son
And thus I eased you
Out of my life, 'cause you didn't want to
Play with me and hit a baseball
Like Ted, whom I loved more than you.

Don't cryo- me, Angelina.
Don't make me of head bereft; you
Won't cut it away
When my existence
Has ceased; please promise,
There's no excisions.

You have attained great fortune and fame,
Though your repertoire's pretty thin.
And now you're angry, girl, at me, by whom you're sired.
In great profusion
You cranked out illusions cinematically,
But none of them nearly as fine
As "Cowboy" with Dustin and me.

Don't cryo- me, Angelina.

Don't cryo- me, Angelina.
We each have a statuette; you
Got supporting, hey!
Not bad! You're pissed at
My big "best" Oscar--
You've always dissed that.

So let's keep in touch.
Listen, I know that in the future you want to
Reanimate my head, so to taunt me.
But I now love Ted less than you.

Don't cryo- me, Angelina.