Oh cheeky, cheeky   Oh naughty sneaky   You're so perceptive   And I wonder how you knew      But these finks don't walk too well   A bad sense of direction   And so they stumble 'round in three's   Such a strange collection      Oh you headless chicken   Can those poor teeth take so much kicking?   You're always so charming   As you peck your way up there      And these finks don't dress too well   No discrimination   To be a zombie all the time   Requires such dedication      Oh please sir, will you let it go by   'Cause I failed both tests with my legs both tied   In my place the stuff is all there   I've been ever so sad for a very long time      My, my they wanted the works, can you this and that?   I never got a letter back   More fool me, bless my soul   More fool me, bless my soul   More fool me, bless my soul      Oh perfect masters   They thrive on disasters   They all look so harmless   Till they find their way up there      But dead finks don't talk too well   They've got a shaky sense of diction   It's not so much a living hell   It's just a dying fiction