Get along lonesome bulldog it's turning to spring
Get along lonesome bulldog it's that time again
Though it's raining, stop complaining
There's a long road to bear
Get along lonesome bulldog,
Get along over there
Get along lonesome bulldog
in the Spring

[Spoken]
Well, Mohatma Ghandi was a little spindly-bottomed and raggedy-headed boy
that grew up in a Western-Kentucky village called Johnstonville.
In Harrison County; there he grew up.
His mother was a white woman;
his father was a rastafarian who refused to buy the family seafood on their outings.
And there he developed a taste for convertables, blonde-headed women,
and a big old long Indian dick...
So get along
Get along little Mohatma Ghandi,
in the Spring.

[Sung]
Get along lonesome bulldog while there's snow on the ground,
Get along lonesome bulldog where you'll never be found,
In the mornin', without warnin'
And there's no food to share
Get along lonesome bulldog, get along over there.
Get along lonesome bulldog in the Spring

[Spoken]
Well, pretty soon little Mohatma Ghandi
was going three hundred miles an hour, and I'll tell you what.
He was going three hundred miles an hour
because his strangely turbocharged penis-head was making him do it that way.
Just kidding--Mohatma Ghandi had a tremendous career in high school,
in college, and in law school, and in the House of Representatives.
There he found himself as a presidential candidate.
He met up with Mary-Jo Kopechne and across the Chappaquadick bridge they did ride.
So get along little Mohatma Ghandi,
get along
in the Spring.