| bu-u-u-u-u-u-rn! |
| pop! |
| pop!
|
| bu-u-u-u-u-u-rn! |
| pop! |
| pop!
|
| I reckon I’m a bit too close to this one
|
| I reckon if I touch it might just burn
|
| flesh-heads like me just wax and melt
|
| when my tongue touches titty’s tongue in turn
|
| sometimes pleasure heads must burn
|
| bu-u-u-u-u-u-rn! |
| pop! |
| pop!
|
| bu-u-u-u-u-u-rn! |
| pop! |
| pop!
|
| my brain tricked my hands to believe they were strong
|
| in short, my hands became clubs to grind
|
| I reckon I’m a bit too close to this one
|
| kiss me darling, kiss my eyes to blind
|
| kiss my clubs and witness what my knuckles find
|
| bu-u-u-u-u-u-rn! |
| pop! |
| pop!
|
| bu-u-u-u-u-u-rn! |
| pop! |
| pop!
|
| I feel a little low, you know what I mean?
|
| buried neck-high in British snow
|
| I reckon I’m a bit too close to this one
|
| shoot me darling, shoot me in the head and go ya! |
| ya! |
| teeth gone. |
| follow my trail back home.
|
| ya! |
| ya! |
| teeth gone. |
| follow my trail back home.
|
| ya! |
| ya! |
| bu-u-u-u-u-u-rn! |
| pop! |
| pop!
|
| etcetera. |