The Lunar Tick has got some class
The Lunar Tick has got some class

Wearing Gucci, drinking fine wine from a glass
Got to keep the Moonies off his ass

The Lunar Tick drinks alcohol
The Lunar Tick eats Alpo balls

Fly-paper holds his insect footsies to the floor
He pulls away, he's stronger than a boar

And if the seal breaks on his Armani space-suit
And if there is no air around him still

And if his gut explodes with blood sucked from a loon
He'll be screwed, 'cause his gut's wide as the moon

The Lunar Tick, his name is Fred
The Lunar Tick, her name is Fred

The cake's been made
Its taste is strange

You re-derange beagles in vain

Nude octal code
Ten rowing trays of geese
Blood's pumping into Fred's space-suit from me

I'm quenching Fred's thirst
Chunder in red beer

Sucks out
My hemoglobin here

And if the gland he's in
Starts spraying crimson goo
My Floyd's Pink - I'm a nut fried on a spoon