Here he is, our little bundle of joy,
We did it honey, it’s a baby boy.
We’ll love him and raise him, ’til he finally leaves us,
What should we name him? How about Adolf?
Little Adolf.
He’s growing up, like little boys do,
He’s grown a mustache and he’s only two.
He’s a pyrotechnic and he loves to play with knives,
And our little buddy gives the weirdest high fives.
Little Adolf, Little Adolf,
Little Adolf, Little Adolf,
He’s a dictator tot,
Dictator-tot.
He gets a little bit angry, but he’s smart as hell,
And who taught him how to speak German so well?
He doesn’t like milk, soda hurts his head,
I tried to give him juice, this is what he said:
“I hate juice, okay?”
“Ok, Hitler, please, drink your juice. I’m tired, I want to go to bed.”
“Just, you know what? Get the juice out of here, out of this house, out of this country, now.”
“Hitler, get the j… what do you want me to do with…?”
“Put the juice in camps and separate them.”
“Separate juice? Hitler, what you want me to do, separate them by flavor? By like, concentration?”
“Concentration… eh?”
Little Adolf, he’s a dictator-tot.