Strangers in my soup, that's what I found there
Little tiny things that swim around there
Looking down I see them looking up at me.

Strange things can be seen, they're scattered sparsely,
Small things that are green, but are not parsley
In my soup they've made their little aquacade.

Soup was meant to be
Completely free of things, extraneous debris,
Except for now and then, a noodle or some rice,
But these things are not nice,
See them swimming, thrashing thriving,
Holy Smokes, they're scuba diving
(Oh my god)
In my bouillabaisse I looked and then I
Saw a tiny face with two antennae
And I heard him say, "Man, the soup is good today,"

I let out a whoop
I hollered, "Waiter, there are strangers in my soup"
And when he came I said "Now I'm a connoisseur,
I ordered soupe de jour,"
And he said, "Look I'm just a waiter,
You need an exterminator.

So you're a connoisseur, I knew you dug soup
I brought you soupe de jour--today it's bug soup
That explains the group of strangers in your soup.