Ahh.. Deee-mon ha-co-hall
Its a sad and woeful story,
but the more you dance, the funner it be,
until the angels and rats are friends to thee.
So sing your songs, and curse the world,
your life's a drug, where you are safe/warm.
So if the children point to you, say "its the waxman", what can that be?
You sit on a stool, from morn to night, and when closing comes you lose your sight.
To wax you turn, in the closet you go, but when morn cracks dawn, you arise and go.
But the drink it does call, and your pocket is full, so back to the stool, your butt does go.
The children point, the young wolves laugh, but your Aiki-a-hol is the only god you know.
Let no man, woman or child say a word or woe,
or the power of gas, will lay them low!
Aiki-a-hol! Silent death attacks!
(Buddy, you need to Mida-size that GAS!)