Mother, mother!
Dad is not on the couch lyin'.
Brother, brother, brother,
Told me something; I think he's lyin'.
He said dad went outside today;
He was intent on cutting hay.

Fatter father
Often takes the Escalade
When he takes trips of six meters.
Now he's going to sharpen the blade.
Dad's going out to thresh and flay;
He is intent on cutting hay. Really! Yeah!

Thicket finds, makes "stick it" signs
Pugnaciously, up digitally.
But then we,
All clearly see:
Dad's mowin' lawn,
He's mowin',
Yeah, dad's mowin' lawn,
He's mowin',
Yeah, dad's mowin' lawn,
Wow! Dad's mowin' lawn.

[Muttering barely heard above the mower's engine]
"All the time, she tells me I'm lazy! Lazy!
I'm not lazy!
I'm not lazy!
I'll show her, yeah!"

----------------------------

"Mother******!" That's dad's voice--it's not a song.
I think he has made a judgement:
That the grass has grown way too long.
We wait for the next thing he'll say;
Predictably, it's about "f*cking hay!
Arghh!!"

Wick he finds; sticks it in wine
Bottle he fills up with gasoline,
Kerosene.
The vapors stream.
Lighter's goin' on;
Throwin' the bomb;
I'm smelling a roarin' lawn,
He's scorching the lawn
"Burn, baby, burn!
Burn, baby, burn!"