Hymn #69
(The Men Who Would Be Weasels)
With bloodshot eyeballs and stain-ed pants
we crawl on our belly like a goner
The
queasy stomach and the pee-pee dance
the symbols of our fucking honor
Smell the stench of rodent sweat
on dingle encrusted testes
We shamble forward
seeking Weaselettes
to shave our backs and show their breasties
GO GET STUFFED our battle belch
as we vomit into the fray
Well march together through
the gates of hell
face down in the gutter where we lay
And now our evil underpants unfurl
as we demonstrate our mighty gasses
we bring
discomfort to a christian world
who can bend and kiss our stinky asses
Weasels one and Weasels all
may our feces fill the air
we pick our nostrils and
we scratch our balls
family values are for fucking squares