Let me tell you all about a man named Carl
Stunk so bad that it made his kinfolk snarl
He lurched through the kitchen snarfin up the food
And his hair looked matted, as if with bubblin’ crude
The next thing ya know ol’ Carl’s a thousandaire
His kinfolk said, “Why don’t ya wash yer hair?!”
His ass-crack’s filthy, and it really oughtn’t be
His kinfolk said, “Just move to Tennessee!”
His armpits serve its own awful function
He lifts up his arms, and his victims’ cry for unction!
His shoes get up and walk away from there
And his dirty socks curl up underneath the chair.
[Black undies . . . Yellow teeth. . .]
Soap and water just aren’t friends of his’n
So he smells like he just finished a’ shit & pissin’
His kinfolks say “someone out to give him a scrub
But no one volunteers – he’s such a filthy grub
Preachers on TV say there ain’t no evolution
But kinsfolk ask “Why’s Carl a-devolution’?”
The kinfolk say to run naked as a jay
Into the carwash and into the hot wax bay.
Or take him to Laundromat and stick him in the dryer
If he begs for mercy, just turn the temp up higher!
[Black undies . . . Yellow teeth . . .]