Brushing his teeth and milking his ulcer
Preparing to waste another wily morning
Stroking himself and them phoning up his sister
He tells her their life would make one whale of a movie
Yes a childhood full of dry goods and wet neglect
The father they now sponge off they have no absorbing respect
Yes he's a glad boy to have such a void
Yes he's a martyr crawling accross cobble stones
From his cozy cottages just west of Rome
Yes it's a sad state for great suffering