Lyrics King Bing - Babybird, Stephen Jones, Luke Scott

King Bing

Oh you ugly beautiful thing
Oh you, oh you, oh you
You ugly beautiful thing i’m in between your head and your sting
Unfolding out your wings one by one 'til you sing like king bing, you
Oh you beautiful thing i’m in-between the ball beat ball of the king
Holding out no cheques, drinking castrol not becks
Plugging in tv flex into my kecks
I dare you to change the fucking channel now.
puts!
Ugly beautiful thing i’m between your head and your sting
Whirling out your wings one by one 'til you sing like king king bing
Ugly beautiful thing how i sing with your plastic wing on the tips of my broken
wing
Oh i’m so shy when you ride up so high and i cry because i can see the
possibility that you might one day die
Oh baby cool you know that thing, that thing you do that i love
You keep doing it, doing it, doing it, and i can’t get over that thing
That thing that you keep, keep doing, doing it, doing it, doing it drives me mad
I love it, do it, do it, do it, do it, ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah
ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah!
Calm down, son.
sing the fucker like a baby
Yeah mom, i’m bad
You ain’t a bad son, son, you’re a fucking king
You’re the son of god, you’re mine, i’m mary, i made you
I forgive you baby.
come to mummy!
Butt-a-bing butt-a-bang butt-a-bing butt-a-boom boom boom
Butt-a-bing butt-a-bang butt-a-bing butt-a-boom boom boom
Butt-a-bing butt-a-bang butt-a-bing butt-a-boom boom boom
Butt-a-bing butt-a-bang butt-a-bing butt-a-boom boom bang
King, the word king
Son, i call you a king, you ain’t poor paul king (?), you’re the king
Ugly beautiful thing i’m between your head and your sting whirling out your
wings one by one
Until you sing like a king bing
Ugly beautiful thing butt-a-bing, butt-a-boom
You ain’t butter, you ain’t harry, you ain’t even the artist formerly known as
prince
Ah, ah, ah, you’re a king, you’re a king, you’re a king, you’re a king
Ugly beautiful thing.
ugly beautiful thing
See what all that means is that blue is really yellow, you grow old, you mellow,
orange turns you on
It’s rust, it’s things rotting
It’s mike and the mechanics doing celine dion doing sting
Fony give away a hundred thousand cds to virgin, our price and all hmvs
Wish i’d thought of it, it’s so cool
It’s music for thick people, lowest common denomination
All hidden under the steeple, roof tiles and a hatch with weeds
Big tits and tight behinds
A guy on the hatch improvise and men who stack singles for £1.99
Get the fucker in the chart, charge £3.99
Take a cut off the supplier, off the artist, off the public, off the quick to
buy and slow to think
Hey that’s why.
you know i know
When will people realise that if you put shit on the dance set and spin it at
45 rpm, 120 bpm you’ll still hear it stink?
I’m out of here, whatever, amen
Ba da da, ba da da, ba da da
Yeah yeah, yeah, yeah
You ugly beautiful thing.
you ugly beautiful thing.
you ugly beautiful thing
You ugly beautiful thing.
you ugly beautiful thing.
you ugly beautiful thing
You ugly beautiful thing.
you ugly beautiful, beautiful, ugly, ugly, beautiful,
ugly, ugly, beautiful, beautiful, ugly, beautiful, ugly, ugly, beautiful, ugly,
beautiful, ugly, beautiful thing
Oh.
i’m getting into jamiraquoi territory now man
Fucking stop it dead now
Shut the drummer up.
shove it up the arse!
Saxophone — fuck off!
Yeah be bop be lula be bop boo, yeah
Wiggy wiggy whack whack
Wiggy wiggy whack whack
Wiggy wiggy wiggy wiggy wiggy wiggy whack
Whack whack wiggy wiggy
Whack whack wiggy wiggy
Wig wig wig wig wig wig whack
Bad jazz for white folks' assholes