Join the cubs, see the world Pay your subs, meet the girls Sell your toys be reborn They love a boy in uniform 37 wasted years Closeting his greatest
When Harry met Bob Bob was an anarchist Harry had a job Working for the government Married to the M.O.D. Bob, he chose Adidas Harry found God Bobby lost
I've lost a truly special friend I swear I'll never drink again I'd like to talk to you alone If I could walk, I'd walk you home I'd like to kiss you
He is the People's poet and all the people know it They've read his published stories in public lavatories In town and country locals he's Mr. Antisocial
Princess resuscitates drowning tramp Big business infiltrates postage stamp Happy days are here again And it's a gas man, oh boy And we will enjoy ourselves
You win some and you lose some And I've lost the will to lose With my part time job and my faith in God Falling on a bruise And this no star bed and
Conspiracy theory number one Jesus was a man from Mars The stable was a pub called the Rising Sun And the three wise men arrived in cars Conspiracy theory
Kids are playing gangster wars They don't believe in Santa Claus The baseball bats are soft of course The blood is just tomato sauce As icebergs go,
One of these days you'll get away from London town Causing chaos and delay on the underground I'll read your letter as I pass away the time Stuck in a
?Bloodsport for all?, said Corporal Flash And shoved me in a room full of C.S. gas Stuck me in a wet-suit to dry off in the sun And fed me pet food, Kit
There was November in your eyes There'd be no pennies for the guys There were fireworks over London But you weren't among them anymore When it got darker
When I saw his face and I was a believer It was the automatic rifles The Nintendo's and the Sega's And the half a dozen dead disciples He claimed to
to patronize the fans Life is cheap, buy some now Satisfy the sheep, sacrifice the sacred cow Born to boogie, disco Tex Mr. Groovy, the God of groupie sex
The Christmas cards and greetings are arriving Across the shifty sands to the war By the time I get to read them, she'll be rising To a fifty, fifty chance
A husband and wife and a whore Bang, bang A family of five maybe four Bang, bang Everyone sing till you're sore Bang, bang There's no such thing as civil
I worship the ground that you walk on Give praise to the place where you sit Your face and the space that you talk from Your teeth and those unlucky lips
The tequila sun is rising And the Harvey's Bristol moon is sinking Put the Binatone on snooze Open up some special brews and start drinking To the biggest
Ground floor Shoppers' Paradise Habit dashery, needles, spoons and knives Knuckle dusters, glass jaws and wooden hearts Spend your money girls, on sprays
