Phil took Cecil to a clinic, in East Berlin
And gave him several skin grafts of his own skin.
Time grew Cecil stronger than ever before,
For his accident gave him the strength of not one sheep, but four.
instead of standing two foot six, Cecil was six foot ten
And in the place of hooves and teeth, there were claws and fangs.
Phil had saved a monster, but Phil thought that was great,
'Cos Phil Smith was a woossie, who'd never had a mate.
All his life he'd been picked on, sh*t stirred and attacked
And all he'd ever wanted was a chance to pay that back with

Cecil, the radioactive sheep.
I said Cecil, the radioactive sheep.

Phil went to the Brewer's Droop, his favourite pub
Where Phil saw seven yobbos eating their grub.
These seven blokes, with chains and ropes, had once tied Phil to a tree
And bashed him hard and fast and long with malice and with glee.
Phil yelled, 'hey you bastards!' and seized their curried beef
And grabbed their bottle of Jim Beam and smashed one in the teeth.
Phil ran out into the carpark; they followed him to a man
But then they froze in terror at what rose from Phil's van it was

Cecil, the radioactive sheep.
I said Cecil, the radioactive sheep.

Cecil sprang in fury and ripped of the leader's arm,
Tore into the spleen of the second, while biting the third one's bum.
The fourth man's head was ripped off, the fifth man lost his heart
And as the other two continued the blue, Phil laughed fit to fart at

Cecil, the radioactive sheep.
I said Cecil, the radioactive sheep.

The moral of this story is fairly plain to see:
I'm only a guitar player, but it means a lot to me.
Don't hang sh*t on my music and don't damage my pride,
For I am Phil Smith, and my van is just outside (and in that van is)

Cecil, the radioactive sheep.
I said Cecil, the radioactive sheep.