Who made the world, sir?
I don't know, son —
See the ants on that hill with a fly.

Who made the world, sir?
Some say that God —
The fly is dead, son.
They're dragging him to their hole.

Who made God, sir?
I don't know —
Now he's gone, son.
Ants are a tireless race.

Who made God, sir?
Observe how they swarm all over the hill.
They're hunting another fly.

They're funny, sir.