Take all your overgrown infants away, somewhere   And build them a home, a little place of their own   The Fletcher Memorial Home   For incurable tyrants and kings      They can appear to themselves every day   On closed circuit TV   To make sure they're still real   It's the only connection they feel      Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, Reagan and Haig   Mr. Began and friend, Mrs.Thatcher, the Paisly   (Hello Maggie!)   Mr. Brezhnev and party, the Ghost of McCarthy   And the memories have mixed and now adding color   (Who's the bald chap?)   A group of anonymous Latin American meat packing glitterati      Did they expect us to treat them with any respect?   They can polish their medals and sharpen their smiles   And please themselves by playing games for a while   Boom boom, bang bang, lie down you're dead      Safe in the permanent gaze of a cold glass eye   With their favorite toy   There'll be good girls 'n' boys   In the Fletcher Memorial Home for colonial   Wasters of life and limb   Is everyone in?      Are you having English time?   (Big guy)   Now final solution can be applied