These men crowded way up in the sky,
Have little in common with you or I.
They smile at each other and are quick to buy-
Any ride that's red that floats miles high.
Then they rise and hide in a cloud,
Where they float real close and talk so loud,
About how they're so much better than thou-
'Cause they only like red and not colors like brown.
And all about how they'd rather drown-
Than to lower themselves and ever come down.
Because floating around is superior to our town,
High up in the sky, not down with us on the ground.