The beetles are playing again Rolling little balls of dung around the tongue They sadden and they sway in bed They bury all their treasure down inside our lungs When they're feasting on their feces with a crunching, munching sound You'll never find more contented kind though you search the world around And they tumble on down to the depths of the grounds And they wail and they gnash and they click And they're feasting on their feces with a crunching, munching sound You'll never find more contented kind though you search the world around And they tumble on down to the depths of the grounds And they wail and they gnash and they click