Take my hands and make them straight Take my hair and make it curl Oh they took one leg and the other one too They took them off to make their glue They piled them high by the canvas tents They piled them high and even higher yet Oh let the mothers go their own way Let the mothers go their own way "Death to Tyrants" he yelled real loud He learned it in Latin to make the northern crowed proud Oh they chased the boy down, dislocated his knee, Aided by the trees and a bright northern light They displayed his knees in a butcher shop There's Joy-esque buzz as the mothers shop And all the people sitting in the pews Are going to burn in hell They're going to burn in hell.