Here he is, our little bundle of joy,
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We did it honey, it's a baby boy.
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We'll love him and raise him, 'til he finally leaves us,
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What should we name him? How about Adolf?
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Little Adolf.
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He's growing up, like little boys do,
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He's grown a mustache and he's only two.
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He's a pyrotechnic and he loves to play with knives,
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And our little buddy gives the weirdest high fives.
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Little Adolf, Little Adolf,
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Little Adolf, Little Adolf,
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He's a dictator tot,
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Dictator-tot.
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He gets a little bit angry, but he's smart as hell,
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And who taught him how to speak German so well?
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He doesn't like milk, soda hurts his head,
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I tried to give him juice, this is what he said:
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"I hate juice, okay?"
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"Ok, Hitler, please, drink your juice. I'm tired, I want to go to bed."
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"Just, you know what? Get the juice out of here, out of this house, out of this country, now."
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"Hitler, get the j... what do you want me to do with...?"
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"Put the juice in camps and separate them."
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"Separate juice? Hitler, what you want me to do, separate them by flavor? By like, concentration?"
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"Concentration... eh?"
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Little Adolf, he's a dictator-tot.
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Little Adolf
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Bo Burnham |