'When I was younger, just a baaad little kid.

My mummy noticed funny things I did.

Like shooting walls with a BB gun.

I'd poison sugar, and when I was done,

I'd find a plastic doll bash in its head,

That's when my mother said...'

'What did she say?' asked Donovan, fearing the answer.

Sherlock sang with a glint in his eye.

'She said "My boy I think someday,

You'll find a way,

To make your natural tendencies pay!

Son be a detective!

You have the talent for working things out!

Son be a detective!

People will pay you to deduce your way out!

Your temperament's wrong for the priest-hood,

And teaching will suit you still less!

Son be a detective,

You'll be a success!'

'Look here he is girls,

The Leader of the freaks!'

'Watch him dance around that body, OH MY GOD!'

'He is a detective and he'll never ever be any good!'

'WHO WANT THER CRIMES SOLVED BY THE MARQUES DU SADE!'

'IIIIIIII'm a detective!

And I get off on the crimes that I solve!'

'You really love it...' grimaced Anderson.

'When I start whipping the bods.

You police will be screaming like holy gods!

And though it may cause my clients distress!

'Distress!' Donovan screamed.

'Somewhere in heaven above me,

I know that my mummy's proud of me...

Oh mother!

Cause I'm a detective and a SUCCESS!'