I hear a little voiceAnd it comes whinging in over the sea of a thousand fat facesThe little voice whinges for something loud and heavyA little line of beer running down his chinny-chinOh my god what a fat little skinAnd I smell something cookingSomething soft, something sweetSomething completely ridiculousIn the beginning was the wordIt come to scrape away the shell-shockAnd I says shake it, shake it, shake itFor another five minutesAnd we are blowing it up like shell-shockAnd to this fabulous wasteCome and deliver yourselvesI says come and eat up somethingDeliver yourselvesWith wet cherries on a Blind Snake SundaeAnd to this fabulous wasteCome and deliver yourselfOh come and leave all your food lying down in the dustAnd listen to the Cook-House rockI said listen to the Cook-House rockListen to it, listen to it, listenListen to the Cook-House rockI hear another little voice, same as beforeExcept a little bit poorer and wastedWhinging for something loudBy god you're fat boy, fatBeer dribbling down your weak little chinI will not let you inAnd yes, again I smell something cookingSomething small and weakAnd completely ridiculousAnd to this fabulous wasteCome and deliver yourselvesI says come and clean up somethingDeliver yourselfWith a wet cherry on a Blind Snake SundaeAnd to this fabulous wasteCome and deliver yourselfI says leave all your food lying down in the dustAnd listen to the Cook-House rockI says listen to the Cook-House rockListen to it, listen to it, listen