| I am the man, the well fed man
|
| In charge of the terrible knob
|
| The most pleasing thing about it
|
| It’s almost a permanent job
|
| When the atom war is over
|
| And the world is split in three
|
| A consolation I’ve got, well, maybe it’s not
|
| There’ll be nobody left but me
|
| I sit at my desk in Washington
|
| In charge of this great machine
|
| More vicious than Adolf Hitler
|
| More deadly than strychnine
|
| And in the evening after a tiring day
|
| Just to give myself a laugh
|
| I hit the button a playful belt
|
| And I listen for the blast
|
| I am the man, the well fed man
|
| In charge of the terrible knob
|
| The most pleasing thing about it
|
| It’s almost a permanent job
|
| When the atom war is over
|
| And the world is split in three
|
| A consolation I’ve got, well, maybe it’s not
|
| There’ll be nobody left but me
|
| If Brezhnev starts his nonsense
|
| And makes a nasty smell
|
| With a wink and a nod from Nixon
|
| I’ll blast them all to hell
|
| And as for that fellow Castro
|
| Him with the sugar cane
|
| He needn’t hide behind his whiskers
|
| I’ll get him just the same
|
| I am the man, the well fed man
|
| In charge of the terrible knob
|
| The most pleasing thing about it
|
| It’s almost a permanent job
|
| When the atom war is over
|
| And the world is split in three
|
| A consolation I’ve got, well, maybe it’s not
|
| There’ll be nobody left but me
|
| If me wife denies my conjucular rights
|
| Or me breakfast milk is sour
|
| From eight to nine in the morning
|
| You’re in for a nervous hour
|
| The button being so terribly close
|
| It’s really a dreadful joke
|
| A bump of my ass as I go past
|
| And we’ll all go up in smoke
|
| I am the man, the well fed man
|
| In charge of the terrible knob
|
| The most pleasing thing about it
|
| It’s almost a permanent job
|
| When the atom war is over
|
| And the world is split in three
|
| A consolation I’ve got, well, maybe it’s not
|
| There’ll be nobody left but me
|
| Now I’m thinking of joining the army
|
| The army that bans the bomb
|
| We’ll take up a large collection
|
| And I’ll donate my thumb
|
| For without it I am helpless
|
| And that’s the way to be
|
| You don’t have to kill the whole bloody lot
|
| To make the people free
|
| I am the man, the well fed man
|
| In charge of the terrible knob
|
| The most pleasing thing about it
|
| It’s almost a permanent job
|
| When the atom war is over
|
| And the world is split in three
|
| A consolation I’ve got, well, maybe it’s not
|
| There’ll be nobody left but me |