Iron Lung Oompah

The old archduke with the Death Rattle Blues sat hacking up a lung
And in his grief he grit his teeth and bit off half his tongue
He called for the coppersmith to come, and ten able-bodied men
To craft a contraption to patch him up, and this is what they sing:
Hasten ye fellows! Fasten the bellows! Pump him till he's dead
Oompah till his eyes pop out and the gauge is in the red
Sharpen, ye fellows, the dark mandocellos, send soldiers into town
Sound the sousaphone-fare and let out with a shout your
Iron Lung Oompah!
Glockenspiel und tuba!
Join the funeral march and chorus
A grim hymn from the deep Black Forest
Take a long deep breath and sing your
Iron Lung Oompah!
The old archduke in his tinman suit turned fire engine red
From a purple hue to a still-born blue indicating he was dead
The rivets started poppin' out, his monocle cracked in half
His head spun and the clockwork drum blew off in a blast
The regicidal maniacs stood round in a ring of fire
Left abaft by the copper shaft not knowing "what now" or "why"
Sharpen, ye fellows, the dark mandocellos, send soldiers into town
Sound the sousaphone-fare and let out with a shout your
Iron Lung Oompah!
Glockenspiel und tuba!
Join the funeral march and chorus
A grim hymn from the deep Black Forest
Take a long deep breath and sing your
Iron Lung Oompah!