| When the city casts its shadows in the pale light of the moon
|
| And the creeps creep in their jack wills' slacks from neon-fronted tombs
|
| You’ll feel the cold air at your back and know that he’s there
|
| Laboured are the passes made by stout unfinished youths
|
| At uninterested ladies whom they’d so love to abuse
|
| And in their wake to stake his claim you know he’ll be there
|
| Stay calm
|
| Bolt your doors, remain calm
|
| It’s yuppie dracula
|
| As scarlet as this hue pervades these rat-infested dumps
|
| Are his twinkling eyes soaked in the fires of lechery and lust
|
| Always watching for the next poor soul he’ll catch unaware
|
| All for the harlots, turned-up collars, oversized and overprices
|
| Pinstriped, perfumed, paying through the nose in wine bars where the ladies
|
| wait in line
|
| And in the morning light he’ll cease to be there.
|
| Stay calm
|
| Bolt your doors, remain calm
|
| This is not a nightmare, remain calm
|
| It’s yuppie dracula
|
| Farewell the drunken, buxom maidens laden with vermouth
|
| For whom the liquor may prove hinderance to fidelity and truth
|
| When the pratfall and the gutter call you know he’ll be there
|
| Stay calm
|
| Bolt your doors, remain calm
|
| This is not a nightmare, remain calm
|
| It’s yuppie dracula |