text: Take all your overgrown infants away somewhere
  And build them a home, a little place of their own
  The Fletcher Memorial Home
  For Incurable Tyrants and Kings
  And they can appear to themselves every day
  On closed circuit T.V
  To make sure they’re still real
  It’s the only connection they feel
  Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, Reagan and Haig
  Mr. Begin and friend, Mrs. Thatcher, and Paisley
  “Hello Maggie!”
  Mr. Brezhnev and party
  “Scusi dov’è il bar?”
  The ghost of McCarthy,
  The memories of Nixon.
  “Who’s the bald chap?”
  And now, adding colour
  A group of anonymous Latin-American meat packing glitterati
  Did they expect us to treat them with any respect?
  They can polish their medals and sharpen their smiles,
  And amuse themselves playing games for awhile
  Boom boom, bang bang, lie down you’re dead
  Safe in the permanent gaze of a cold glass eye
  With their favourite toys
  They’ll be good girls and boys
  In the Fletcher Memorial Home for colonial
  Wasters of life and limb
  Is everyone in?
  Are you having a nice time?
  Now the final solution can be applied