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 could 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. Begin and friend) (Mrs. Thatcher) (And Paisley) ("Hello Maggie!") (Mr. Brezhnev and party) ("Scusi dov'è il bar?") (The ghost of McCarthy) (And the memories of Nixon) (And now, adding colour) ("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 amuse themselves playing games for awhile) (Boom-boom, bang-bang) (Lie down, you're dead)) Safe in the permanent gaze of a cold glass eye Their favourite toy They'll be good girls and boys In the Fletcher Memorial Home for Colonial Wasters of Life and Limb Is everyone in? Are you having a nice time? (Goodbye!) Now the final solution can be applied