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.