His pants were sliding toward his feet,
Toward his feet, toward his feet.
Not pretty, his cantaloupe seat,
'Twas there for all to see,

CHORUS:
Butt's on show, pal; it's not a comely sight,
A comely sight, a comely sight.
Butt's on show, pal; it's not a comely sight.
Hike pants up; we can spy the moon.

He shocked some nuns out for a walk,
For a walk, for a walk.
Despite themselves, they had to gawk
Then scolded reverently:

CHORUS

Others started to look askance,
Look askance, look askance.
He had no belt to hold his pants,
Not even suspenders.

Butt's on show, pal; it's not a comely sight,
A bum-see sight, a rumpy sight.
Butt's on show, pal; nuns might flee in fright,
Hike pants up; we can spy the moon.

The pants slipped down, pal,
And the hole they weren't blockin'.
To his toes they were droppin,
Then they rolled to his stockin's.
He grabbed a gal's stole
And it's new role was flockin'
For gams and soda-cracker-white moon.

Butt on show, pal, that was a nasty sight,
A ghastly sight, teeth-gnashy sight.
Butt's now clothed, pal, to keep your ass from sight,
Clamp pants with a tight belt. . .no moon.