| Ba boo ba boo ba baya. |
| Ba boo ba boo ba baya. |
| Ba boo ba boo ba baya. |
| Ba boo ba baya. |
| People see me acting strange, |
| They might think it’s a burning shame. |
| But the people don’t realise, |
| The pangs of hell that I feel. |
| So let them say I’m mad, |
| They don’t know how it feels to be sad. |
| I don’t know who could be glad, |
| In a situation like this. |
| My last shirt’s torn off my back, |
| But that’s not quite the fact. |
| My shoe is down to my socks, |
| No place to lay my head. |
| I don’t even own a bed, |
| I can’t remember when I’ve eaten bread. |
| They don’t seem to realise, |
| What really keeps me alive. |
| It’s the power that is so great, |
| That no man can destroy. |
| They’d like to understand, |
| Just where I get my helping hand. |
| So they criticise, |
| While I look and live. |
| Ba boo ba boo ba baya. |
| Ba boo ba boo ba baya. |
| Ba boo ba boo ba baya. |
| Ba boo ba baya. |
| Ba boo ba boo ba baya. |
| Ba boo ba boo ba baya. |
| Ba boo ba boo ba baya. |
| Ba boo ba baya. |
| People see me acting strange, |
| They might think it’s a burning shame. |
| But the people don’t realise, |
| The pangs of hell that I feel. |
| So let them say I’m mad, |
| They don’t know how it feels to be sad. |
| I don’t know who could be glad, |
| In a situation like this. |
| My last shirt’s torn off my back, |
| But that’s not quite the fact. |
| My shoe is down to my socks, |
| No place to lay my head. |
| I don’t even own a bed, |
| I can’t remember when I’ve eaten bread. |
| Ba boo ba boo ba baya. |
| Ba boo ba boo ba baya. |
| Ba boo ba boo ba baya. |
| Ba boo ba baya |