OLD FRUIT

"Hey old fruit", a continental voice
said, "Fill your boots, come on feel the noise"
Athletic peacocks, diamonds concealed,
gelled up their locks and took the field
Oh you beaut, praise Allah for the choice

Hey pop pickers my haircut is real gone
Tarts and vicars put your habits on
Y'know the World is full of fans
I'm a cocksmoker who learned to dance
and show my knickers, give them what they want

With amyl ass and weedy head
willing to say whatevers asked and wet the bed
A giant mirror, an epic shopping list
Make with the "Some of my best friends are pink oboists"
Oh cheap mince, dead straight
The 'You Don't Have To Be Mad To Work Here' sign on heaven's gate
Spew for cash but shut that door
And leave 'em knocking but they can't come in

Hey old fruit, you're in the news my friend
Resolute on pages 4 -10
The Far Out Sex Farce! Dollops of booze!
The latest squeeze! The brand new shoes!
Birthday suit! from A - B and back again

by Robert Lloyd, copyright control