I read the news in a paper:
No flowers, please, donations to charity
Like the N.S.P.C.V.d.G.G. –
Yeh, send the money
To Guy and Hugh and David and me

It's a joke
There is no hope left
Oh, whoever might disagree

Tell me juicy rumours
Dish me the dirt
Go on and rip the back right off my shirt

Tell me how I hate Hugh Banton
Tell us that the bank account is zero
And that anyway there's no-one left to play to...
Oh, well, there you go

Are we ever going to get this act together on time?
It's been totally screwed up and I really just don't know
Is there any way of keeping a clean feed line?
It's out of the question when the triple distortion booster's blown

"Jackson, please!"
"What's the matter, man?"
"You're freaking me out, you know."
Only playing happy families
Maybe playing different tunes
Always playing too hard, too fast, too soon

Waiting for our fate to take us
Waiting for the liquidator
Can't be cut off by the paper
In the middle of a show

Waiting for our fate to take us
Waiting for the liquidator
The only news is bad news
And the only story's breaking up
Or carrying on

Waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting...
Carrying on