[Father]

Lay down
Lay down
Lay your desert spoon on the ground
Lay your truffle on the plate
I don't care how long I must wait

Lay down your Trifle and eat your peas
and your cabbages and broccoli's
As you shovel it down, your custard's not far
after brussels sprouts, and a cauliflower!

[Son]

I don't know if I can taste it,
I can't stand the smell of peas
It's not healthy but i'd rather,
Die from disease, disease, disease
I can't stand these peas!

[Father]

Lay down, those sweets and buns
eat a rutabaga or you're not my son!


[Son]

I don't know if I can taste it,
I know it's good for my teeth
But it makes me faint, i'd rather,
have gum disease, disease, disease
Don't make me eat those peas!

And the years have rolled on
and my health has run down
and my teeth all fell out
now they lay on the ground
So I stop eating sweets
and I cut out the coke
but the smell of the swede
makes me sputter and choke

Oh where are the peas?
where are the peas?
Leeks and peas!

[Guitar solo ends with the sound of me dropping dead and a heart beat fading to a flat tone]