Let us be preparing the food That will devour our insides Tell the world that it was true That we were powerful bigheads In one town, there were three men All of them wearing a fragrance And of this world, they could not talk For all the scene is but a sacred charm It wears a thong, it wears a sock In the town over from Langley Some may say there is a song A warbling cold, a savory shape When all the heirs have prickled and gone A lady is over the mountain She says, "What are you laying your hands upon?" She sings, "What are your savory shoulders ready for catching a savior!" And lo! Behold! A shaven one woman comes cradling old bags Old sagging fresh bags of human flesh