Take all your overgrown infants away somewhereAnd build them a home, a little place of their own.The Fletcher MemorialHome for Incurable Tyrants and Kings.
And they can appear to themselves every dayOn closed circuit T.V.To make sure they're still real.It's the only connection they feel."Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, Reagan and Haig,Mr. Begin and friend, Mrs. Thatcher, and Paisly,"Hello Maggie!"Mr. Brezhnev and party."Who's the bald chap?"The ghost of McCarthy,The memories of Nixon."Good-bye!"And now, adding color, 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 theirSmiles, and amuse themselves playing games for awhile.Boom boom, bang bang, lie down you're dead.
Safe in the permanent gaze of a cold glass eyeWith their favorite toysThey'll be good girls and boysIn the Fletcher Memorial Home for colonialWasters of life and limb.
Is everyone in?Are you having a nice time?Now the final solution can be applied.
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