All deserters will be shot At five o'clock tomorrow morning So get yourselves together And quit messing around No more nonsense! The assassination occurred At three thirty No one was there to witness it Even the breviaries had left Their tapestries on the window And we were all silenced By the sad mildewed cloud That followed around I wish I was back in the land of the Of the, hmm You can't pin that one on me I didn't do a goddamn thing I was just standing there Then, a bunch of guys came up And started laying all this shit on me Now what am I supposed to do? I'm an american You can't touch me Did you know all nuns are forty-two And their eyes are blue? Did you know all tablecloths Are white in france? Did you know women wear underpants? They do How does a musician imitate The sound of underpants sliding Over a woman's thighs Down over her ankles And over her little toes And the rings on her toes And her unclipped toe nails Lightning struck the magic purse I didn't do a damn thing, man I was just standing there In front of the delicatessen And all these rabbis ran up And a bunch of indians And freaks and monsters And just started talking In all these weird languages What could I say? Hey, I'm tired of being a freaky musician I want to be Napoleon Let's have some more wars around here What a stinking shitty little war We have running over there Let's get a big one A real big one With a lot of killings and bombs and blood School days, school days Good old-fashioned, rule days School days, school days Good old-fashion, rule days