Lyric | Song title |
'It's nine in the afternoon, and your eyes are the size of the moon' | |
'Cause I'm bluffin' with my muffin, I'm not lying I'm just stunnin' with my love-glue-gunning' | |
'...Richard Nixon back again, Moonshot, Woodstock, Watergate, punk rock' | |
'The social pages say I've got the biggest balls of all' | |
'I don't know what I'm to say, but, I'll say it anyway! | |
'It's nice to be a lunatic, Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!' | |
'I am I said, to no-one there, and no-one heard at all, not even the chair' | |
'With eyes that looked like ice on fire' | |
| Lyric | Song title |
'Back to back, sacrailiac, spineless movement and a wild attack' | |
'Stinky weather, fat shaky hands, dopey morning doc' | |
'I mix your milk wit my cocoa puff, milky milky cocoa, mix your milk wit my cocoa puff, milky milky riiiiight' | |
'I have a secret to tell, from my electrical well, it's a simple message and I'm leaving out the whistles and bells' | |
'Everytime I look around, it's in my face' | |
'We can dance, we can dance, everybody look at your hands' | |
'I know it sounds funny but I just can't stand the pain' | |
'To tear out from your eyes with a board to stiffen brooding lies' | |
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