When I was younger, just a bad little kid,

my mama noticed funny things I did,

like shootin' puppies with a B B gun.

I'd poison guppies, and when I was done

I'd find a pussycat and bash in its head.

That's when my mama said  (What did she say?),

she said, "My boy, I think someday

you'll find a way to make your natural tendencies pay.

You'll be a dentist.  You have a talent for causin' things pain.

Son, be a dentist.  People will pay you to be inhumane.

Your temp'rament's wrong for the priesthood

and teaching would suit you still less.

Son, be a dentist.  You'll be a success.

(Here he is, folks: the leader of the plaque!

Watch him suck up that gas!  Oh, my god!

He's a dentist and he'll never ever be any good.

Who wants their teeth done by the Marquis de Sade?

Oh that hurts!  I'm not numb!)

Oh, shut up.  Open wide.  here I come!

I am your dentist (goodness gracious!),

and I enjoy the career that I picked.  (Love it.)

I am your dentist (fitting braces),

and I get off on the pain I inflict.  (Really love it.)

I thrill when I drill a bicuspid.

It's swell though they tell me I'm maladjusted.

And though it may cause my patients distress,

somewhere, somewhere in heaven above me

I know, I know, that my mama's proud of me  (Oh, mama.)

'cause I'm a dentist and a success.

Say ah!  (Ah!)  Say ah!  (Ah!)  Say ah!  (Ah!)  Now spit.