Oh I went out west to a land that's blessed,
Bringin' Brigham's polygamy all the way.
I have Sal, Dahl, Val, and other gals,
Bingin', poo-pooin' bigamy as passé.

Fare thee well, fare thee well,
Fare thee well, monog'mous states,
For I'm gonna lose the stigmas
Of sixty siblings with six mas,
Singin', "Bring 'em on; gimme me oodles of mates!"

Oh, my Sal's one of the mothers there,
Bringin' big broods in but bitchin' at the rate.
At thirteen, she started to bear,
But she was sixteen when we had our first date.

Fare thee well, fare thee well,
Fare thee well, nix-surplus-mates.
Had to split to lose the stigmas
Of sixty siblings with six mas.
At Joe Smith and Brigham back East, they're irate.

When we heard that Smith dirge, we started out across
The desert; Deseret became our state.
We're doin' what Joe said, because he was the boss;
It said, "prosper and propagate" on the plates.

(Several decades interlude)

Fare thee well, fare thee well,
Fare thee well, polyg'mous state.
Big boys said we'll lose the stigma
And the bitchin' 'bout our dogma. . .
Some still canoodle with caboodle o' mates.