Lyrics: David Yazbek/Erik Della Penna
Music: David Yazbek/Erik Della Penna
Rum-de-diddly-dum-de-dum-de-diddly-dum-de-dum-de-do!
Rum-de-diddly-dum-de-dum-de-diddly-dum-de-dum-de-do!
They're calling a truce, they're calling it quits
But that's because we took the time to blow them to bits!
Look to the west, the south, and the east
There's nothing left except for what their bowels released!
Because that's the business that we're in
And it doesn't matter what you do as long as you win!
So now we begin:
You're only a kid, an ignorant pup
But you really get to know a thing when you're blowin' it up
The click of a switch, the blink of an eye
Fire in the hole, wave bye-bye!
Every hand grenade's a royal flush
If you think that what this country needs is a feminine touch
You're thinking too much!
A whiskey or two to fill up your cup
Will settle the hand that lights the fuse that's blowin' it up
And then you will see what everything means
A world without end to smithereens!
Smithereens!
Smithereens!
Smithereens!