The Beckmanns

My brother is a brat, a wank stain in a hat
My sister is a strumpet in a nun
And Dad is on the Hock, naked on the dock
Who says making money isn’t fun?
The Beckmanns could be normal if the city wasn’t mad
But who could stop the rot when it began?
Now Father is a fat lady in a hat
And Mother is a gentleman
My cousin, he’s a singer, popular with fleas
My uncle’s been in prison for a year
And I’ve got the disease, my brother likes to tease
Of walking off with stuff that isn’t there
The Beckmanns could be normal if the city wasn’t mad
But who could stop the rot when it began?
Now Father is a fat lady in a hat
And Mother is a gentleman
The lightbulb starts to swing when the neighbours stagger in
And they begin to bugger and to fist
Father plays the sousaphone and everybody groans
It soon has Mother drinking like a fish
The Beckmanns could be normal if the city wasn’t mad
But who could stop the rot when it began?
Now Father is a fat lady in a hat
And Mother is a gentleman
The mongrel’s got the runs, up there on the sun
Which probably explains why it is brown
And Father is a fat lady in a hat
And Mother is a gentleman
Nobody’s impressed when the actors get undressed
We simply cannot understand the fuss
Cos everything they do is made of sand and glue
They’re parrots doing parodies of us
The Beckmanns could be normal if the city wasn’t mad
But who could stop the rot when it began?
Father is a fat wank stain in a hat
And Mother is from Amsterdam
Mother’s swigging schnapps and Father’s playing craps
With the creep we call the Fisher King
And Jesus is at large, standing on a barge
Heading up to Hamburg for the spring
The Beckmanns could be normal if the city wasn’t mad
But who can stop the rot when it’s begun
Father is a fat bugger in a hat
And Mother is a gentleman