You say that I'm a bigot. No sir! No sir!nI have lots of swishy friends around, I do, I do-dah-donBut a bunch of those togethernCan only do the Devil's work, and it's the Devil's work they donnFinding beauty in ugly things is alright...to a point!nAnd have you seen that cross-breed of the high-brow and the low?nIt's a note tied to a brick that reads:nFreedom, foul freedom, we are free to foul whatever, and we willnnWhy can't these people see? Theirs is a life of mimicrynThey are fathers without sons or daughtersnThey are bathers at the mouth of a literary deltanIt isn't poetrynIt's an orchestration, orchestration of their own demisennAnd you'll call me a bigot, or a dog in the mangernBut I've seen them in the commons with their kerchiefs and tattoosnnAnd a bunch of those togethernCan only do the Devil's work, and it's the Devil's work they don