He'll depart us on a gurney,
After losing his entire life.
Will they rant, the Kurds this Iraq king?
He should have met his death last spring.
The last thing he'll see is a rope with some fuzz,
'Fore they 'ply a blackened shroud.
This sheik will rot; when in ground he lies.
The rope snares; the trap door sounds.

He spread through the desert such a gas that did maim,
He was crude how he dropped it like rain.
In the desert they still remember their slain,
When with spray paint gun dumped down some real high octane.

(La la la la-la-la-la-la-la la-de-da la-la)
(La la la la-la-la-la-la-la la-de-da la-la)

In a few days, hope Americans,
His skin they'll send to make dead,
Less than three weeks left for warrant run,
Will his liver and his organs spread?
Less the quarry gets sold of his liver cash flows,
They are bad what do with parts said.

There're be a noose for this despot, and of course he'll be slain,
He will die with his chemical name
In the desert he disbursed high octane
He's a cousin of that Baath member Hussein,
Soon they'll be one less of that family's chain.

(La la la la-la-la-la-la-la la-de-da la-la)
(La la la la-la-la-la-la-la la-de-da la-la)

Six plus nine days of the rope he's free,
When the warrant turns history.
With the grants, Kurds and the Iraqis,
They don't want can those Sunnis.
There's motions for these despots with their likes underground,
But so perfect despised, no love.
Be no pity, when your heart stops its pound,
When they drop the trap door above.

Ali, you blew through the desert with a scent like methane,
May feel good when you’re dead and slain.
But those Baathist's may not remember his name,
That he was the cousin of Saddam Hussein.

(La la la la-la-la-la-la-la la-de-da la-la)
(La la la la-la-la-la-la-la la-de-da la-la)