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