It's a pretty Sunday
In sky is sun
Weekend beard grows on my face
Let's shave
(Lyric missing from OS recording: "I'm looking at the barber, Sweeney...")

Bop-bop-m-bop! Bop-bop-m-bop!...

"Help you out, I'll pre-condition your hair
Put in braids or a pigtail or two, yeah
Give you a mohawk for your hair-do
(What's with this, it's a sickness, he don't give a damn 'bout your hair!)

Bop-bop m-bop, bop-bop m-bop, bop-bop mbop!
"From the top-top-- get it lopped, Bob-- here's the strop-op--how's yer Pop-op ?"

I don't quite trust this guy for cutting my hair
He smells bad and looks quite goofy, too, yeah!
He hates life more than he will admit to
(What's with this, it's a sickness, he don't give a damn 'bout your hair!)

(Lyric missing from OS recording: "What a poor old psycho is he!")

It's so unfair, stuck in this barber's chair
I'll put up a good fight
Throw him a curve
I understand, I'm stuck right where I am
I feel uncomfortable
Here in his spa

He talks of gameshows
Home team advantages and guns
Tension in the air

"Here's my good razors
See how they're glistening?"
Pretty scary, Mother Mary
As he applies the foaming gel

He sings as he then lathers, no goof
Then scrapes that razor on my chin
Scandalizing
See him smiling
My wide eyes are tearing up...

Blood in the air, splashes on walls and chair
This is a homicide
That has been served!
I comprehend
My neck is still attached
This is regrettable
Here in the spa...

Now we can go...
He's no psycho...
I'm a schizo!!!....