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
as we vomit into the fray
We’ll 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