Oh cheeky cheeky 
Oh naughty sneaky 
You're so perceptive 
And I wonder how you knew. 

But dead finks don't walk too well (oh no)
bad sense of direction (oh no)
And so they stumble round in threes (oh no)
Such a strange collection. 

Oh, you headless chicken 
Can those poor teeth take so much kicking? 
You're always so charming 
As you make your way up here. 

And dead finks don't dress too well 
No discrimination 
To be a zombie all the time 
Requires such dedication. 

"Oh please sir, will you let it go by, 
'Cos I failed both tests with my legs both tied 
In my place the stuff is all there 
I've been ever so sad for a very long time. 

My my, they wanted the works: 
Can you this? and that? I never got a letter back 
More fool me, bless my soul 
More fool me, bless my soul."

Oh perfect masters 
They thrive on disasters
They all look so harmless 
Till they find their way up here. 

But dead finks don't talk too well 
They've got a shaky sense of diction 
It's not so much a living [bad word] 
It's just a dying fiction