Crab legs, pâté, sweet pork juices
Mr. Tapeworm never refuses
Head cheese, veggies, pizza pie
That little guy spits in my eye
Oh Mr. Tapeworm he makes me squirm
Nice Mr. Tapeworm'll make my ring burn
Maypo, tofu, screaming zonkers
Daily my dead bowels he conquers
Crawls out of my dirt chute at night
To feast on my fridge's delights
Oh Mr. Tapeworm'll make my ring burn
Nice Mr. Tapeworm'll make my ring burn
Maypo, tofu, screaming zonkers
Daily my dead bowels he conquers
Crawls out of my dirt chute at night
To feast on my fridge's delights
Oh Mr. Tapeworm you make me burn
Nice Mr. Tapeworm makes my ring burn
So, Mr. Burl, is it jamming? This one's about how we, uh, we take our bloated leather bags out and beat them mercilessly, 'til they relinquish some of that lovely coconut oil
If you're still having girl problems, just remember the answer's at the end of your arm