I’d like to flush the demons from out of her mind
I’d like to flush the demons from out of her mind
I’d like to rescue her from unicyclists
Come on, come on
Come on, come on
Come on, come on, begone, futon, begone
Beyond the brook of eastern sages lies a stream
A growing trend for people nowadays to say
Don’t let my funeral be morose in any way
I, I, I, I, I will always hate them
I ask you now please
Rock of Ages Cleft For Me
The forty-third brown sign today
Tells me I could be on my way
To England’s crudest water wheel
I’d rather take the bridleway
The one you turned down yesterday
To be with he who rules the roost at barbeques
Too many psychopaths
Not enough cycle paths
Too many psychopaths
Not enough cycle paths