The zombies are coming, the Fed people say
To gnaw on your brains and then suck them away
Five percent are gray ones
Ten percent are green ones
Six percent are rotten ones
Three percent, "new", clean ones
But all of them are mean ones

The zombies are coming, the city's in fright
You'll know that you're doomed when they're squeezin' you tight
Eight percent are bloody ones
Two percent are dry ones
Twelve percent are soggy ones
They shamble; there're no spry ones
And none of them are shy ones

One percent are chubby ones
Four percent are long ones
And people, don't give up and mope
Just keep on fighting, though there's no hope
But -- here's a reason you can cope
You might become a strong one!