The pots and the pans Of a polish man With his coiled hand He does what he can Feet in the sand Piece of the pie With his coiled hand He gives it a try Waving his arms He's taking a stroll Finding his charm But burns it to coal (He is the man) He does what he can (He is the man) He does what he can (He is the man) He does what he can But when his conscience gets thick He feels like a dick Sitting alone Pants on fire Head in the sky Face in the fryer Born with a crease In between his eyes With a porky smile It'll take him a while (He is the man) He does what he can (He is the man) He does what he can (He is the man) He does what he can But when his conscience gets thick He feels like it fits With his coiled hand, he does what he can With his coiled hand, he does what he can He is the man He does what he can But when his conscience gets thick He feels like a dick He is the man He does what he can But when his conscience gets thick He feels like a dick With his coiled hand With his coiled hand With his coiled hand He does what he can