You're the love of my life, but it cuts like a knife and I feel that I'm being misled. See I'm a little concerned, for I've recently learned of the swastika tattoo on your head. And it makes you smile when you hear "Sieg Heil", you love the smell of burning cross in the yard. You do goose step salutes in your Doc Martens boots, and you quoted "Mein Kampf" in our 3rd anniversary card.
Are you a nazi? I think you're a nazi, baby. Are you a nazi? You might be a nazi, baby...
You keep extensive files on the Nuremberg Trials, and you watch them whenever they're airing. I guess I should've known when you bought a new bone for your puppies named Goebbels and Göring. You showed up too late on our very first date, I said "How are you?" you said "White Power!" Call me paranoid, but I'm not overjoyed when you ask me if I want to shower...
I think you're a nazi, don't be lying, baby. Are you a nazi? Are you anti-Zion, maybe?
And your every dress is monogram SS and you hold an Aryan picnic and bash. And it makes me irate when you say I look great if I wear a little tiny moustache. Your social politics say that races don't mix, and you call it "Pure Blood Pollution". And whenever I'm sad, you say "It's not so bad, for every problem there's a Final Solution"...
I think you're a nazi, give me an answer, baby. Are you a nazi? You drive a fucking panzer, baby.
I know you're a nazi, and that's why I'm leaving, baby. I know you're a nazi, sure as my name is Stephen Lynch-Bergstein.