The Fletcher Memorial Home

Take all your overgrown infants away, somewhere And build them a home, a little place of their own The Fletcher Memorial Home For incurable tyrants and kings They can appear to themselves every day On closed circuit TV To make sure they're still real It's the only connection they feel Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, Reagan and Haig Mr. Began and friend, Mrs.Thatcher, the Paisly (Hello Maggie!) Mr. Brezhnev and party, the Ghost of McCarthy And the memories have mixed and now adding color (Who's the bald chap?) A group of anonymous Latin American meat packing glitterati Did they expect us to treat them with any respect? They can polish their medals and sharpen their smiles And please themselves by playing games for a while Boom boom, bang bang, lie down you're dead Safe in the permanent gaze of a cold glass eye With their favorite toy There'll be good girls 'n' boys In the Fletcher Memorial Home for colonial Wasters of life and limb Is everyone in? Are you having English time? (Big guy) Now final solution can be applied