Strange gent 'cause he ain't tipplin' the wine,
Empties the contents, don't even dine,
Makes sure the funnel and bottle align,
Incendiary gent pours in turpentine.

His flair for flames excused:
As little kid, by Smokey abused.

Incendiary gent turns green to brown;
"Burn on!" tune sings; burns the forests down--
Look at that elm! Look at that elm!
Yeah, yeah!
Cooked to a shell of it's wood self!

Torches a house with a mountain view,
When it's fried he'll decide what next to do,
Neat trick: he takes some sticks and rubs the two,
The flames lick, he gets his kicks; boy's got loose screw.

His flares and flames excused:
As little kid, by Smokey abused.

Dry gent one night wants to tipple wine
And picks a vintage that's very fine,
Gent forgets that it's full of turpentine,
Ignites a cigarette; all that they find:

Few hairs, a pair of shoes,
Flickering flint he shouldn't have used.

Incendiary gent; inflammable, he went:

"Ow! Ow! Ow!
Ow! Ow! Ow!
Ow! Ow! Ow!
Ow! Ow! Ow!"