Feeling low
The party's on the radio
Should be at work, but Sodom till tomorrow
Think I'll bip round to the bird's house
'Cos I've heard that her mum's away
I'll raid the neighbor's garden
Present her with a nice bouquet
She'll be so pleased, we'll go upstairs
And up and down on the eiderdown

'Til six, 'til the night time
The right time. Night time's the best time
I'm expected in the shed
Got BA tattooed on his head
They call him Flash, his real name's Fred
He's listening
But the girls, they desire him as he rips at their barricades;
And boys, they admire him as he skips with his razor blade
Carves the bible on your rival
Takes your money, leaves you crumbled on the floor
It's his hobby. He's having fun
His hobby - having fun
(Fun fun fun, till Daddy takes the T-Bird away.)

A place where no one goes
A sparkling crimson channel flows
A victim lies with all his clothes disheveled
Tries to rest on an elbow
Grits his teeth as he feels the pain
A reflection in a puddle winces "cheese!" from its inner drain
Then shadows gather round him
Feel his pulse, give him blanket for the night
He'll be alright, through the night
Sleep with the shadows