One eye slightly larger
And one eye mighty small
And the mouth that slobbers green drool
Won’t chew any flesh at all
He lacks malice
And he’s twelve feet tall

Just like Hugo’s tale in Paris
Of that hunchback we all recall
‘Stead of a hunched up monster psycho killer,
He’s viewing his Renoir
Lacks malice
He’s deep in art, ya’ll

With the hands large as French horns
Curl up and scare you to the core
But he’s just not that kind of large goon
Just refined and loving bro
He lacks malice
He reads Rousseau

Day frolics with a close friend
No loppin’ lovely heads
And on fright nights he’s not in backwoods
Won’t have sharp blade making you dead
He’s gentle,
Not at night he treads
He’s in bed
He’s in bed.