King of muttonchops, King of my heart
O Martin Van Buren, you know how to start
That fire inside me.

You gave me butterflies in my solar plexus
With your sexy policies on Texas
And those crazy Cherokees.

“Martin Van Ruin!” said the Whigs,
But you just went on eating figs,
Which were your favorite food.

You didn’t give a shit about their cries
Since they were all terribly vicious lies,
And you still had a pretty sweet beard.