The sweet pretty things are in bed now of course The city fathers they're trying to endorse The reincarnation of Paul Revere's horse But the town has no need to be nervous
The ghost of Belle Starr she hands down her wits To Jezebel the nun she violently knits A bald wig for Jack the Ripper who sits At the head of the chamber of commerce
[Chorus] Mama's in the fact'ry She ain't got no shoes Daddy's in the alley He's lookin' for the fuse I'm in the streets With the tombstone blues
The hysterical bride in the penny arcade Screaming she moans, "I've just been made" Then sends out for the doctor who pulls down the shade Says, "My advice is to not let the boys in"
Now the medicine man comes and he shuffles inside He walks with a swagger and he says to the bride "Stop all this weeping, swallow your pride You will not die, it's not poison"
Well, John the Baptist after torturing a thief Looks up at his hero the Commander-in-Chief Saying, "Tell me great hero, but please make it brief Is there a hole for me to get sick in?"
The Commander-in-Chief answers him while chasing a fly Saying, "Death to all those who would whimper and cry" And dropping a bar bell he points to the sky Saving, "The sun's not yellow it's chicken" Chorus
The king of the Philistines his soldiers to save Put jawbones on their tombstones and flatters their graves Puts the pied pipers in prison and fattens the slaves Then sends them out to the jungle
Gypsy Davey with a blowtorch he burns out their camps With his faithful slave Pedro behind him he tramps With a fantastic collection of stamps To win friends and influence his uncle
The geometry of innocence flesh on the bone Causes Galileo's math book to get thrown At Delilah who sits worthlessly alone But the tears on her cheeks are from laughter
Now I wish I could give Brother Bill his great thrill I would set him in chains at the top of the hill Then send out for some pillars and Cecil B. DeMille He could die happily ever after
Where Ma Raney and Beethoven once unwrapped their bed roll Tuba players now rehearse around the flagpole And the National Bank at a profit sells road maps for the soul To the old folks home and the college
Now I wish I could write you a melody so plain That could hold you dear lady from going insane That could ease you and cool you and cease the pain Of your useless and pointless knowledge