(Fade in wild stretch notes in a fast blues pattern....)
Way down south where the pam tree sways Out in the woods past the Everglades There lives an ancient hippy boy, and strange to tell He goes by the handle of B W L He don't work in no office, his bills to pay He just sits around home and works with clay all day! And when he gets sore an' wants to howl at the moon He whups out a guitar and knocks out a toon!
Oh, go, go, BW, go! Oh, go, go, BW, go, Tell those ofay muthahs they kin jes' go to hell, An; have a nice Burfday, Bee Doublya Ell!
(Fade out rabid boogie guitar beat and rockola drum set.....)
(Additional verses left as an exercise for the demented....)