Oh heathen wenches perched high on your rock
With your siren song, won't you sit on my boat
Your hypnotic sound can make my heart bleed
With a face like a dog though, you belong on a lead
Your voice so gentle, your sound so pure
With skin like Medusa wearing lipstick manure
A crescendo of bliss, a glimpse into heaven
Til you stopped your wailing, and I began to vomit horrendously

When the Sinister Sisters of Sicily sang
The men came a crawlin' in search of the Moulin (rouge)
Instead what they find is a snakey like pit
By now it's too late though, we're all in the shit

Well one coaxed me in with her delicate hum
Her voice wasn't bad either, it was better than some
With an amphibious face, and seaweed for hair, she sang
"Walking on Memphis", Holy Mackerel, it's Cher!
Her wee froggy voice, had me in a spell,
she invited me down to her cesspit to dwell
Well I made my excuses, once I finished the deed
Twas a wise old maneuver, I suggest you take heed!

When the Sinister Sisters of Sicily sang
The men came a crawlin' in search of the Moulin (rouge)
Instead what they find is a snakey like pit
By now it's too late though, we're all in the shit

Oh my dear purly wurly princess
how i adored your leather chaps, wooden acting, and penchant for paparrazzi abuse, not to mention your veracious appetite for salty skin, and men of weak will, consequently leading to out blessed love child, Horatio!
I often think of horatio, our misguided son, and his ill fated outcome, what with his fishy head and human lip scenario, and his arthritic gills, not too sure how he inherited that...
I can only hope for an enjoyable life for horatio, and his children, and their children, and their children's children etc etc..
Oh matilda we could have been so good together if it wasn't for your excessive repulsiveness....

When the Sinister Sisters of Sicily sang
The men came a crawlin' in search of the Moulin (rouge)
Instead what they find is a snakey like pit
By now it's too late though, we're all in the shit
When the Sinister Sisters of Sicily sang
The men came a crawlin' in search of the Moulin (rouge)
Instead what they find is a snakey like pit
By now it's too late though, we're all in the shit
When the Sinister Sisters of Sicily sang
The men came a crawlin' in search of the Moulin (rouge)
Instead what they find is a snakey like pit
By now it's too late though, we're all in the shit

I hear now she's singing for six groats a night
Making movies as well, though I hear they're all shite.