There's a hole in my sock
Where my shoe always bites it
And that's got to stop or else
I'll feel foolish at the sock-hop yeah

The sacraments slouch
Near the garnish toupet with ceramic
My name's Marcus and I'm a Martian mime
Well of course I'm a mime
Where do you think I got
This scoop of Scottish cheese
And not a brick
From brown government buildings
There's a cloud in my clock
Where the seconds always chide it
And that's got to stop
If I'm going to ride aboard the herbivore yeah

Whose hourglass fingers
Look starved through the mask
My name's Cassius and I've metamorphosized
Into a nosy guest talking dresses
Made of pheasant breasts
From magazine gown gazebo
And a red-sabred pompous horseman
There's a glare from my smock
Where a cardinal ate his shadow
And that's got to stop
If I'm going to garnish an acorn souffle

The clowns kneel down and pray
That the police will go away
After first giving them back their balms
So they can swat each other's bearded faces
Once again once again

There's an oh my and my goodness
Genuflecting as in battle
And that's got to stop
If I'm going to convert a bouncing Chan Marshall