'Cause he stops in feeling poorly
And he needs some work to find
And his thoughts become a mite dirty
Lets his lamebrained mem'ries climb
'Cause his urge just builds, sounds fun to grasp and tease
His nether tail

And he's strokin' wood
And he's stoked and primed
And he's oh, so filthy
In his odd Costanza mind
He's a self-erected glamour mag hound
Viewing the dresses so pervert-atively

And his mother's at some meeting
While his father's at his trade
So he's sure he's free to pound and jerk
While he's fussing with the shade
But his ass is cooked, as well as grilled
When (his) mother saunters in

'Cause he shows boned wood
And she groans and whines
And he's oh, so guilty
Of immodesty ill-timed
And his self-erected gland, it pouts down
Skewing his mother so disturb-atively

As she spies his homely parts
And she cries and sags, depressed
But he'd better stand and dress
And her homestead smells distressed
So he gropes and grabs to clothe his root
While mother passes out

Now she's prone and stewed
'Cause she broke her spine
Says her son's so selfish
And a clod so unrefined
"He's a self-erected man," she shouts out
"Doing the sex thing so masturb-atively"

And he strays to stop and stare
And he knows he's getting hotter
(As) they disrobe the girl next door
And they're sponging down her knockers
And his mother crows and frets about
His pathological state

But he's oh, so shrewd
And he oh, so lies
And he's oh, so stealthy
In a contest friends devise
He's the self-projected master, hands down
Ruling his domain so superlatively