Hootchie Cootchie Mama
(lyrics improvised from the mind of Brad Smith)

You're a hootchie cootchie mama, hootchie cootchie mama,
You hootchie cootch all day and all the night, all night
With your pampy-ass problems and your hootchie cootchie ways
I know that it's alright.

Diapers look good on you
Hey, they look good on anybody,
but Kermit looks the best.
You hootchie cootchie mama
Hootchie cootchie, hootchie cootchie
hootchie cootchie, all day long.

Crucified babies hanging from my front porch,
Dead Santa Claus entrails on my lawn,
Little Vietnamese girls hanging from the fridgerator.
Why must I be like this, you hootchie cootchie mama?

You're a hootchie cootchie mama now
You're a hootchie cootchie mama now
And Jamey's not (No Sir!) in my pants (No I'm not!)
and my deviated septum.
Wooooaaaaaaaahhhh!!! Aaaahhh!!!