We're all thinking Dolly is on the mend,
We're all drinking like and Indian,
Someone saide that you came by,
But I know better than to ask him why,
The grad school kids all say that it's the end,
But we're all thinking Dolly is on the mend.
Buster Brown's got mad kids on his lot,
He looks like G-d but someone said he's not,
His black skin shines like a naked spear,
His cracked hands make his face appear,
Like G-d's because he's holding something grand,
And we're all thinking Dolly is on the mend.
Galaxies of crisco dicso fries,
Shut the fat land's whinning grimy eyes,
We'll take our case to the only place,
Where the fruit's still good and the juice is chaste,
A million assholes on two-million seats,
Two for every five-grand place of yeast,
Two for every greased up sneering beast and crazy trend,
Getting sick while Dolly is on the mend.
