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Oh cheeky, cheeky 
Oh naughty sneaky 
You're so perceptive 
And I wonder how you knew 
 
But these finks don't walk too well 
A bad sense of direction 
And so they stumble 'round in three's 
Such a strange collection 
 
Oh you headless chicken 
Can those poor teeth take so much kicking? 
You're always so charming 
As you peck your way up there 
 
And these finks don't dress too well 
No discrimination 
To be a zombie all the time 
Requires such dedication 
 
Oh please sir, will you let it go by 
'Cause I failed both tests with my legs both tied 
In my place the stuff is all there 
I've been ever so sad for a very long time 
 
My, my they wanted the works, can you this and that? 
I never got a letter back 
More fool me, bless my soul 
More fool me, bless my soul 
More fool me, bless my soul 
 
Oh perfect masters 
They thrive on disasters 
They all look so harmless 
Till they find their way up there 
 
But dead finks don't talk too well 
They've got a shaky sense of diction 
It's not so much a living hell 
It's just a dying fiction