Got a Whac-a-mole headache, pounds like a sieve
Guacamole hitch-hike, somethings gotta give
Katipo spider ready to pounce
A Kakapo spied her and took her out
Heck of a thing to explain to a child
What a whac-a-mole headache is, it kills me inside
And every day it gets worse and worse
Some call it a blessing – I call it a curse
He left in a pine box, he left in a hearse
He left in a boxcar, dirt-laden with dirt
Conditions so filthy Bin Laden would curse
Stinks to high heaven like Damien Hirst
By the rivers of Palestine
Where we used to bathe
Theres nothing like old england here
Except the fields of graves.
God save our noble king, go save his knob
Place it in this shallow basket to show to the hob-nobs
Crap in, Crap out the granola queen
Extinguish her before she breeds
Kentucky Blue grass beckons like “Squeaky” Fromme
Its so good to touch the blue grass of home
Grass as green as Sean “P. Diddy” Colmes
Oh sister let the good times roll
Sealed in the foment
Roughly impaled in the heat of the moment
Vaguely reminiscent of Henry Winkler
He was the first “Fonz”, like our first rodent
I remember the day the music died
Entertaining was once so straightforward
6 spoons on the left of me , a half dozen on right
Big Bopper gargling through the window beer-wall, “Well, that’s alright!”
