Well I burnt my suit and I shaved my head And I hunt for Cherokees And I trip up scouts, but I don't use knees 'Cause I don't like blood on my dungarees And I've thrown out all my groovy beads and bells And (bah b-bah b-bah b-bah b-) bangles
Yes I roam my town for a red or brown With my house-trained pet mongoose Well he's pretty tame 'til he gets cut loose And I knot my tie in a hangman's noose And I've thrown out my Stanley Matthews tips on How to make it big on the right-wing
My job at the butcher's Pays well, educates me Fat pig, first the lungs and then the liver Yeah yeah, chop it into suey Then hang, swing it in the window for a week
Well, my first name's Fred and it rhymes with dead And I don't take groovy jive Try it on and you won't leave alive So just don't get near to my half pint beer And I've thrown out all my William Burroughs books on How to make it big in hospitalTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
