The Button Pusher

I am the man, the well-fed man, in charge of the

terrible knob,

The most pleasing thing about it, it's almost a

permanent job,

When the atom war is over, and the world is split

in three,

A consolation I got, well maybe it's not, there'll be

nobody left but me.

I sit at my desk in Washington in charge of this great

machine

More vicious than Adolf Hitler, more deadly than

strichnine

And in the evening after a tiring day just to give

myself a laugh

I hit the button a playful belt and I listen for the

blast

If Breshniev starts his nonsense, and makes a nasty

spell

With a wink and a nod from Nixon, I'll blast them all

to hell

And as for that Fidel Castro, him with the sugar cane,

He needn't hide behind his whiskers, I'll get him just

the same.

If my wife denies me conjugular rights or my breakfast

milk is sour

From eight to nine in the morning you're in for a

nervous hour,

The button being so terribly close it's really a

dreadful joke

Abut with my arse, as I go past, and we'll all go up in

smoke.

Now I'm thinking of joining the army, the army that

bans the bomb

We'll take up a large collection, and I'll donate my

thumb,

For without it, I am helpless, and that's the way to be

You don't have to kill the whole bloody lot to make the

people free.