The Moray Eels Eat the Holy Modal Rounders

If you want to be a bird Why don't you try a little flying There's no denying It gets you high Why be shackled to your feet When you've got wings You haven't used yet Don't wait for heaven Get out and fly Just glide there Through the clear air Making

Longing, you're lapped in fortune, Chuck my chin, scratch my back, Bite my neck, break my ear, Take up all the awful slack. Roll me over in the clover, Roll me over just like rover, Do it just a little lower, Slightly to the left and lower. Deal 'em