The old rocker wore his hair too long, wore his trouser cuffs too tight Unfashionable to the end; drank his ale too light Death's head belt buckle, yesterday's dreams, the transport caf' prophet of doom Ringing no change in his double-sewn seams, in his post-war-babe gloom
Cut along the dotted line, slip in and seal the flap Postal competition crazy, though you wear the dunce's cap Win a fortnight in Ibiza, line up for the big hand out You'll never know unless you try what winning's all about Be a quiz kid Be a whiz kid
Six days later there's a rush telegram Drop everything and telephone this number if you can It's a free trip down to London for a weekend of high life They'll wine you, dine you, undermine you; better not bring the wife Be a quiz kid Be a whiz kid
It's a try out for a quiz show that millions watch each week Following the fate and fortunes of contestants as they speak Answerable to everyone, responsible to all, publicity dissected Brain cells splattered on the walls of encyclopaedic knowledge May be barbaric but it's fun As the clock ticks away a lifetime, hold your head up to the gun Of a million cathode ray tubes aimed at your tiny skull May you find sweet inspiration, may your memory not be dull
May you rise to dizzy success, may your wit be quick and strong May you constantly amaze us, may your answers not be wrong May your head be on your shoulders, may your tongue be in your cheek And most of all we pray that you may come back next week Be a quiz kid Be a whiz kidTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
