He's gonna win the racenWith his six-string bass.nYou're gonna give him a chase, man,nYou left the devil breathless.nnYou want him 'till I tap your tits.nHe's gonna caution your clits.nHe talked your whole cherry treeninto growing its fruit with no pits.nnHe's the egg that drops in your soup,nHe's the hand that hold the tottering scoop,nBase bicycle braid and beer,nGod d-d-d-damn, you're prostrate in fear.nnHe's gonna win the racenWith his six-string bass.nHe's gonna summon the hounds now,nHere they come now,nWithout a sound, now.nnThe saxophone swallowed his reednAs the drummer ran out in the lead.nThe piano fell down on his back,nAs the singer fell down through the cracks.nSee the guitar's locked in its case,nAs the lights licked the face of his bass.nHe's the end, the light, the dark,nKnocked the rainbow right out of the park.nnUltimatum, ultimatum (x6)