I want a little yellowcake on my plate
I want a little uranium-238
I could stand the attention make a little noise
I feel so hopeless, feel I got no choice.
(feel so helpless, feel I got no voice)
I could use one of those Soviet backpack nukes
maybe that’d soothe my sack of wrathful rebukes
or some Anthrax certified
USDA weapons grade
I need some yellowcake on my plate
I ain’t foolin’
I want some yellowcake on my plate.
you been acting suspicious
I got to say . . .
look out babe
here come the IAEA!
I want a little yellowcake on my plate,
I want uranium-238:
I’m God’s own appointed agent of fate (hate)
and I feel the need to pretaliate.
Just one of those so called Soviet backpack nukes
would give my attack more than ample excuse
or a sample of Anthrax, USDA-weapons-grade,
I want some yellowcake on my plate.
I ain't foolin'
I want some yellowcake on my plate
(* maybe you don't know the tune - ed.)