You who hide behind your job's place
The security of position
What are you waiting for?
Your own souls are dying
You have surrounded yourselves
In the fat and grease
To protect you from the from the Viking hoards
Who come pillaging at your door
You may pay them off
With all your riches
Protect yourselves
From war
Or real risk
You who
Fatly waddle
Down your streets of pleasant peace
