Pass me that lovely little gun
My dear, my darling one
The cleaners are coming, one by one
You don't even want to let them start
They are knocking now upon your door
They measure the room, they know the score
They're mopping up the butcher's floor
Of your broken little hearts
Oooo-oooo-oooo-oooo children
Forgive us now for what we've done
It started out as a bit of fun
Here, take these before we run away
The keys to the gulag
Oooo children
Lift up your voice, lift up your voice
Children
Rejoice, rejoice
Here comes Frank and poor old Jim