My Amazon six-triggered bride 
Now searching for a place to hide 
Still sees the [bad word] quite easily 
But shrouds all else in mystery 
While madmen in top hats and tails 
Impale themselves on six-inch nails 
And some Arabian also-ran 
Impersonates a watering can 

Some Santa Claus-like face of note 
Entreats my ears to set afloat 
My feeble sick and weary brain 
And I am [bad word] with shame 
And hide inside my overcoat 
And hurriedly begin to quote 
While some Arabian sheikh most grand 
Impersonates a hot-dog stand 

The Red Cross ambulance outside 
Can only mean that I must hide 
'Til dusk and finally the night 
When I will make a hasty flight 
Across the sea and far away 
To where the weary exiles stay 
And some Arabian oil-well 
Impersonates a padded cell