Kathy's kisses, they fall out of Her mouth onto the floor, collect dust And sweep them under the door
Well, I love that kewpie doll Well, I love that kewpie doll Well, I love that kewpie doll Yeah, I bought her in a show And I dressed her in a cheap red
I have a friend in you, oh Mr Clarinet you make me laugh, and then cry like the song of the clarinet. marry me, marry me alive O I put on my coat of trumpets
now look out I took a record of pretty music I went down and baby you can tell I took a record of pretty music now I'm putting it to you straight from
H A M L E T, yeah Hamlet's fishin' in the grave, fishin' in the grave Through the custard bones and stuff He ain't got no friend in there, no he ain't
Dances on all floors He's in his birthday suit He's in his birthday suit He's in his birthday suit He's in his birthday suit And oh, here we go again
bu-u-u-u-u-u-rn! pop! pop! bu-u-u-u-u-u-rn! pop! pop! I reckon I'm a bit too close to this one I reckon if I touch it might just burn flesh-heads like
Hey, hey, hey, hey Now they put the stink on us Throw us to the succubus Fed us to the incubus And brung in the saprophagous C'mon and kiss me black
Whoah bite Whoah bite Release the bats, release the bats Don't tell me that it doesn't hurt A hundred fluttering in your skirt Oh, don't tell me that
this place is hell to me with the devil in my bed and the devil in this bottle and the devil in my head I'll meet you in heaven again if you wear that
they're working us like dogs around here 'cause pleasure is the boss and I'm the happiest slave alive around here 'cause pleasure is the boss and nothing
There is woman pie in here Mr. Evangelist says, she's hit The best cook you ever had You can't blame the good woman now, dad And you locked him up for
hey hey I am the stow-a-way hey hey I am the stow-a-way my girl turned as blue as an iceberg do and me I'm totally shipwrecked over her baby baby don
Turn to my eyes so I may steal you Snatching such a vision burns a shape into me Yet another hole, yet another hole in this infested soul In this infested
Quicksand, I'm in it's grip Quicksand, I'm in it's grip A sinken in the mud Patron saint of the bog They come with boots of blood With pitchfork and with
Well, I, jump and fled this fuckin' heap on doctored wings My flailin' pinions, with splints and rags and crutches (Damn things nearly hardly flap) Canker
I, cigarette fingers Puff and poke Puff and poking the smoke It touches the ground You and your lungs and your wrist They throb like trains Choo choo
Inanimational items elude I, and In an emotional motion I swallow my Motive of quicker location is slammed My dim chance of skippin' this thick world