No socks, no socks, no Submarine Man The footis are going to war The footis are going to war Bomb the lands of Gragor The footis pull up and roar In the night, go to the Sock Club And I cut all the smeeting stockings up Footis all worship the Sub Drink the smeet smoothie in the cup The stockings don't belong here, they are scum Not liking feet is pretty dumb Beat on the socks until they go numb Beat on the socks like the beat of a drum See the stocking, slash it with a sword I played Killer like I play my chords All the footis love me, they give me awards I am Old Man Dad, Footi lord! Oh! Bomb Gragor! Bomb Gragor! Bomb Gragor! Bomb Gragor! Bomb Gragor! No Socks! Bomb Gragor!