Brian is turned grey and turned seventy

He's looking decrepit and old

Too long I the tooth to be useful

I'm afraid he will have to be told

 

Like the beef on the hook in the butchers

He's well past his sell by date

It's time he faced up to the future

Perhaps for deciding his fate.

 

We can't set him out on an ice floe

Like the Eskimos do in the cold

Or set him afloat in a fire boat

As the Vikings once did to their old.

 

So I think that to save all the trouble

We won't leave him too cold or too hot

We'll cover his eyes with a blindfold

Take him out, line him up, have him shot.