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I keep hanging around your kitchenette
And I'm gonna get a pot to cook you in
I stick my fingers in your biscuit jar
And crush all your Gingerbread Men

Cause I want you
I want you to be my friend
I want you
I wanna be your solitary man

Try not to wake the executioner
He's sleeping with a fireman's axe
He leaves his glass eye on the pillow
And his dentures floating there in a glass

What's this husband of yours ever given to you
Oprah Winfrey on a plasma screen
And a brood of jug-eared buck-toothed imbeciles
The ugliest kids I've ever seen

(Now will you send those kids to play down the street
And shouldn't you, shouldn't you put shoes on their feet?
It's getting hard to relax
It's getting hard to relax
Open the window!
Who's that
Who's coming on the back stairs?!!
It's getting hard to relax!)

Now I know that you don't really dig him
And I can see that you want it to quit
But if you want to get your hand out of the cookie jar
You have to let go of the biscuit!

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