'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!'