Nut’s loose—sheesh, Norm! Stuff loon!

He’s not well, it is plain to see:
He stuffs birds, and one is mommy.
’cause he’s a tax’ man,
Yeah, he’s a tax’ man.

He likes her dress. . .appears it’s small;
He yanks it on when he’s in thrall,
A don’t-wear-slacks mans,
Yeah, a no-slacks man.

He will hide the car in swampy peat,
Then a shrike he’ll slit. . .sawdust replete.
Audubon would scold this rascal’s feat—
Birds that once did squawk are now dead meat.
Tax’ man.

[dip-car solo]

Hide-’em-in-back man,
In-the-trunk-stack man.

His task: to slash raptors then core
(Uh huh, slit then fill ’em)
This loon goes to efface the gore
(Buff, buff…Mister Clean)

’cause he’s a hacks man
And cover-tracks man.

His slicing knife scores and they die—
Whacks man.
Beware, he’s dressed as mom; here’s why:
Slash man!
’cause he’s a slash man,
Yeah, he’s just half man.

When a bird’s done, he goes nuts as she. . .
Wack man.