Rot, rot, rot, rot.
It's a plot, plot, plot, plot.
We're the Wickersham brothers. We're onto your plot,
Pretending you're talking to Whos who are not.
It's a deep, dire, evil political plot,
Pretending you're talking to Whos who are not.
We're the Wickersham brothers. We're vigilant spotters.
Hot shot spotters of rotters and plotters.
And we're going to save our sons and our daughters from you.
You're a dastardly, ghastardly, shnastardly schnook,
Trying to brainwash our brains with this gobbledygook.
We know what you’re up to, pal.
You're trying to shatter our morale.
You're trying to stir up discontent
And seize the reins of government.
You’re trying to throw sand in our eyes.
You're trying to kill free enterprise
And raise the cost of figs and dates
And wreck our compound interest rates.
And shut our schools, and steal our jewels,
And even change our football rules;
Take away our garden tools
And lock us up in vestibules!
But fortunately, we're no fools.
We’re the Wickersham brothers. We know your type!
And we're putting a stop to this trick-u-lous tripe
We’re the Wickersham brothers; we're squashing your plot.
There'll be no more talking to Whos who are not!
There'll be no more talking to Whos who are not!
There'll be no more talking to Whos who are not!
There'll be no more talking to Whos... who are not.
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