me Let's make our own film tonight It's been around for years and years But you went gone for eyes and ears It's really sweet and oh so free On your
I feel suspended in space In another time and place To talk would burst the bubble Just want to lie next to you And appreciate the view And hope it'd
at home silently and wonder Why all the preference is polishing the chrome While all the mothers and the sisters and the babies Sit and rot at home Car trouble, oh yeah And
Get on your back step where you belong Leave your shirt and tie undone Cajun twister all night long You fight so hard to get your name What big eyes
I've got a fetish for brando A fetish for cats A fetish for ladies in christian dior hats I've got a fetish and that means I'm sick I've got a fetish and
history and the right to lie Every rebel that I've met say they're going to die and yet I see them now and they ain't dead yet, and pushing forty one
has come And you and me are the only ones To take it on to the special place Let me touch your mouth, let me kiss your face One and one and one make
me delirious If I were kind and adoring How would that be? Very boring Mister Pressman with your penknife Always asking about my sex life And who with and
the curls of the Deutscher girls? A love of mine from down on the Rhine I love your blonde hair, I kiss your pigtails And I could not share the scratch of your nails And
's dog eat, dog eat, dog eat Dog eat, dog eat, dog eat, dog eat, dog Leapfrog the dog and brush me, daddy oh It's easy to Lay down and hide Where's the
for sexpeople Sexmusic for antpeople Get off your knees And hear the insect prayer The brain will suffer So ride hard, ride clean How reputations scare And
Adam ant Ten Nine Eight Seven Six Five Four Three Two One At the screen on the green now (you'd better take it in the ear now) (you'd better listen
the big boy It was pissing with rain And we went And the herald angels sang Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh.... We were coming back in the van From milan And
Kennedy died in '63, poor John.F Kennedy died in '63, poor John.F Kennedy died in '63, poor John.F Kennedy died in '63, poor John.F Kennedy No more messing
here And it's come to save you and me A lot of people in the ancient world They loved only quiet And then along came the machine And a new direction
beach You're too fat to clean yourself You're just my porky pig Cream buns, fat fun Yeah, fat fun One day, girl, I'm gonna take you out And I'll stuff
To become admirers or my enemies Take it up or leave it, I'm not gonna change a bit If it means heartache then leave it out for your sake I tried and