Who's that down the street, peeking through Miss Shiela's ferns?
A skinny, little, toothpick, angel man. You can't see him when he turns
He's thinkin', he's blinkin' his shifty eyes so sunk inside his face
It's late November, so please remember, to invite him into your place


He's curious about your bakin' and how much time it's had
It's a traditional Thankstakin' with Mr. Dad


Your girlfriend took your board games, but he's brought all the fun
He's pulled his limb out from the pie, and wouldn't you know? It's done
He spins his hatdress all around, and much to your surprise
The turkey ain't the only thing here sporting scrumptious thighs


He ate his waffle in one bite, he's never been so glad
It's a traditional Thankstakin' with Mr. Dad


And in a moment, you know it's time for him to visit other homes
You'd give him a goodbye hug, but that'd just break all his bones
His hairless head, his calf-high socks, his pale, unearthly glow
You hate to see Mr. Dad leave but you love to watch him go

But he'll be back here next year so there's no need to feel sad
It's a traditional Thankstakin' with Mr. Dad