[Verse 1]
God gave you talent to sit on the bog
And not be a genius and drop some more logs
Sitting all day in the smell of your own shit
When you've got the ability to be T. S. Eliot!

[Verse 2]
So what if you could play Mozart when you were three
And learn seven languages before you could pee?
If you're a pianist, cut off your thumbs
And if you're a linguist, chop out your tongue

[Verse 3]
If you want my advice, Mr Jesus F. Christ
Go back to carpentry for the rest of your life
And if you feel stifled and get time off from the boss
Find the son of God and nail him to the cross
Alright!
Lord have mercy