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