Glum, mute, geek, bore, mum dude.

My mien’s yellow-brown, slick, sickly;
I’m stuck here in this gallery,
’cause I’m a wax man,
Yeah, I’m a wax man.

A silent gent, I never squall—
I’m paraffin, you will recall.
I am a wax man,
Paraffin wax man.

I am kind of hard, unless there’s heat;
Should a fire me crisp, I would retreat,
So please keep it cold, then I’m complete,
Else I’ll melt and shrink from head to feet. . .
Wax man!

[Bic-harm solo]

’cause I’m a wax man,
Please don’t be lax, man!

Don’t ask me questions; I can’t roar
(Uh, huh, I’m a still man)
Out answers—I’m kind of a bore
(No tongue behind teeth)

’cause I’m a wax man. . .
Wear-slacks-of-flax man.

I’m kind of shy—I never cry,
Wax man.
The stare is pensive, from fake eyes,
Wax man

’cause I’m a wax man. . .
A wane-from-match man

And I’m worthless at faux bonhomie.
Wax man.