The Fletcher Memorial Home

Take all your overgrown infants away somewhere
 And build them a home
 A little place of their own
 The Fletcher Memorial Home For Incurable Tyrants and Kings
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 They could appear to themselves every day
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 On closed circuit TV
 To make sure they're still real
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 It's the only connection they feel
 (Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome)
 (Reagan and Haig)
 (Mr. Begin and friend)
 (Mrs. Thatcher)
 (And Paisley)
 ("Hello Maggie!")
 (Mr. Brezhnev and party)
 ("Scusi dov'è il bar?")
 (The ghost of McCarthy)
 (And the memories of Nixon)
 (And now, adding colour)
 ("Who's the bald chap?")
 (A group of anonymous Latin-American meat packing glitterati)
 Did they expect us to treat them with any respect?
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 (They can polish their medals and sharpen their smiles)
 (And amuse themselves playing games for awhile)
 (Boom-boom, bang-bang)
 (Lie down, you're dead))
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 Safe in the permanent gaze of a cold glass eye
 Their favourite toy
 They'll be good girls and boys
 In the Fletcher Memorial Home for Colonial Wasters of Life and Limb
 Is everyone in?
 Are you having a nice time? (Goodbye!)
 Now the final solution can be applied