As he sits in his penthouse, enjoying the view
The wheels turn around in his beanie.
He thinks back to the ballad that made him a star
Made him rich and made him a weenie.

And you can see for sure dollar signs are in his eyes
Creating treacly odes that made him lots of money
And he's glad he's a weenie.

As he's lying in bed and can't get to sleep
Riveted on his new inspiration
He puts his hand on his billfold, it's bulging inside
That fuels his motivation.

Cause he has his following of sentimental fans who'd pay their last dime
To hear those sacherine groanies
He's so glad he's a weenie.

And I'd like to roast that weenie.