| Your star is descending round here blindly
|
| Tell your dancing daughter that there’s no room on the wing
|
| We can bitch, but it ain’t tinsel town, hey! |
| Starchild
|
| Can’t dance, left out on a useless limb
|
| This party will start
|
| To drag you down
|
| Slap your face
|
| And pull your hair
|
| Bailed out, bailed out
|
| Bailed out, this skin is shed
|
| Bailed out, bailed out
|
| Bailed out, this thing is dead
|
| I was in traction, started off smiling, couldn’t help laughing
|
| I was astounded when whey caught you unaware
|
| And some missionary said that this week we’ve got to shoot all the dancing girls
|
| And then replace them with satellites instead
|
| This party will start
|
| To drag you down
|
| Slap your face
|
| And pull your hair
|
| Bailed out, bailed out
|
| Bailed out, this skin is shed
|
| Bailed out, bailed out
|
| Bailed out, this thing is dead
|
| Like to see something change
|
| Around here, around there
|
| Bailed out, bailed out
|
| Bailed out, this skin is shed
|
| Bailed out, bailed out
|
| Bailed out, this thing is dead |