It's not the fault of the primitives
That skimmed off the cream
Weeds spring up where they can
We can only congratulate them
It's our fault
Not all those parasites
That made it hard for us
Let it go, old man,
It's our fault
For letting them
What did the generals know
And the mustachioed majors
Only to yell:
Fire, but they're not the worst
It's our fault
And not all the infantile masses
That dreamed of rifles
No, no, buddy
It's our fault
For hiding in the back
Fair well, Europe
Don't wait for us any longer
Don't ask much
Or you'll get a bad reputation too
Fair well, planet
We had a nice time together
We're doing great
Exactly as we deserve
It's not the fault of the depressives
Lunatics and psychopaths
That first razed and pillaged
And are now offering us spades
It's our fault
It's not the fault of sedatives
That didn't stop them
Sorry, old man,
It's our fault
For keeping our mouths shut
Fair well, Europe
And send us some baked goods
We're doing well
It's an unspeakable bliss
Fair well, planet
People are summoning the Devil here
We're doing nice
It's an undescribible picture