All deserters will be shot
At five o'clock tomorrow morning
So get yourselves together
And quit messing around
No more nonsense!
The assassination occurred
At three thirty
No one was there to witness it
Even the breviaries had left
Their tapestries on the window
And we were all silenced
By the sad mildewed cloud
That followed around
I wish I was back in the land of the
Of the, hmm
You can't pin that one on me
I didn't do a goddamn thing
I was just standing there
Then, a bunch of guys came up
And started laying all this shit on me
Now what am I supposed to do?
I'm an american
You can't touch me
Did you know all nuns are forty-two
And their eyes are blue?
Did you know all tablecloths
Are white in france?
Did you know women wear underpants?
They do
How does a musician imitate
The sound of underpants sliding
Over a woman's thighs
Down over her ankles
And over her little toes
And the rings on her toes
And her unclipped toe nails
Lightning struck the magic purse
I didn't do a damn thing, man
I was just standing there
In front of the delicatessen
And all these rabbis ran up
And a bunch of indians
And freaks and monsters
And just started talking
In all these weird languages
What could I say?
Hey, I'm tired of being a freaky musician
I want to be Napoleon
Let's have some more wars around here
What a stinking shitty little war
We have running over there
Let's get a big one
A real big one
With a lot of killings and bombs and blood
School days, school days
Good old-fashioned, rule days
School days, school days
Good old-fashion, rule days
