I met him in the slums down in old Thailand
Where they're begging all the time
And the girls will sell themselves to ya.
They'll offer to "do ya."

I saw the older monk standing there in the shower.
I asked him "what's that?"
And then he said to me
"It's my Buddha.
I call this my Buddha.
Come look at my Buddha."

Well, I've got one too, but in my reckoning,
It's kind of hard to be enlightened
from a corporal thing
Such as Buddha;
Such as this big Buddha.

I might be dumb, but I can't understand
How he thinks I'll make Nirvana
Just by rubbing my hand
On his Buddha;
For stroking his Buddha;
Good karma from Buddha.

Well, I was a young llama before,
But now he tells me to be a dog on the floor.
He says "We'll have to have you trained, of course,
So now you must learn of Buddha's mystical force."

Well, I'm not the kind that can argue with him,
But I think he's been over-exercising his limb
on his Buddha;
Too focused on Buddha
From stroking his Buddha.
Buddha;
He's making his Buddha;
One with my own Buddha.

Well, I learned to stroke;
And mantras to croak,
And how not to choke
When Buddha's in my head,
But now I must bow with my legs spread.

He says "You must have my Buddha everywhere inside,
So bow your head, meditate, and spread your cheeks really wide
For my Buddha;
Spread wide for my Buddha."

He says my own Buddha can be better employed,
But for now, I must embrace his Buddha in my own void
Behind Buddha;
Behind my own Buddha.

Well, I hear that the Catholics are in a mess:
It's because of idolatry, I would guess.
But I just don't get what all these critics say;
My own master treats me the exact same way!

I guess these Westerns think it's a crime,
But we Easterners have done it since the dawn of time
With our Buddhas;
With younger boys' Buddhas;
We all play with Buddhas.

Buddhas;
Our younger boys' Buddhas;
We all play with Buddhas.
[Etc.]