| Let me put my arms
|
| Around your head
|
| Gee, it’s hot, let’s go to bed
|
| Don’t forget to turn on the light
|
| Don’t laugh babe, it’ll be alright
|
| Pour me out another phone
|
| I’ll ring and see
|
| If your friends are home
|
| Perhaps the strange ones in the dome
|
| Can lend us a book we can read up alone
|
| And try to get it on like once before
|
| When people stared in Jagger’s eyes
|
| And scored
|
| Like the video films we saw
|
| His name was always Buddy
|
| And he’d shrug and ask to stay
|
| She’d sigh like Twig the Wonder Kid
|
| And turn her face away
|
| She’s uncertain if she likes him
|
| But she knows she really loves him
|
| It’s a crash course for the ravers
|
| It’s a Drive-in Saturday
|
| Jung the foreman prayed at work
|
| That neither hands nor limbs would burst
|
| It’s hard enough to keep formation
|
| Amid this fall out saturation
|
| Cursing at the Astronette 8
|
| Who stands in steel
|
| By his cabinet
|
| He’s crashing out with Sylvian
|
| The Bureau Supply
|
| For ageing men
|
| With snorting head he gazes to the shore
|
| Which once had raised a sea
|
| That raged no more
|
| Like the video films we saw
|
| His name was always Buddy
|
| And he’d shrug and ask to stay
|
| She’d sigh like Twig the Wonder Kid
|
| And turn her face away
|
| She’s uncertain if she likes him
|
| But she knows she really loves him
|
| It’s a crash course for the ravers
|
| It’s a Drive-in Saturday
|
| It’s a Drive-in Saturday |