| He’s got secular joy
|
| He’s a peculiar boy
|
| But now the lustre has gone
|
| The peculiar boy is no more
|
| Who’ll save him from being a man?
|
| Not me
|
| He’s got precious youth
|
| But forsaken, forsooth
|
| And now the shine grows dim
|
| Change tradition for whim
|
| Who’ll save him from being a man?
|
| Not me
|
| He’s got clothes all red
|
| Strewn on a purple bed
|
| But now the red’s in his eyes
|
| He’s no longer a prize
|
| Who’ll save him from being a man?
|
| Not me
|
| I’m qualified, not me
|
| I’m insured to that, not me
|
| I didn’t kill the cat, not me
|
| I don’t know where it’s at, not me
|
| But now his skin is slack
|
| He shows a certain lack
|
| Who’ll save him from being a man?
|
| Not me
|
| Who’ll save him from being a man?
|
| Not me
|
| Who’ll save him from being a man?
|
| Not me |