|
Underage, in a foreign land |
|
Come to think of it, it was |
|
Japan Pickin' pockets, fillin' mine with yen |
|
Discovering machines that vend |
|
I'd like to leave, not 'til |
|
I find Machines that serve both beer and wine |
|
Like an Irish man and a pot of gold |
|
Or a four leaf clover for a twelve year-old |
|
What then |
|
What then |
|
I scout for pigs, insert my yen |
|
The good times, they can never end |
|
I met a girl, don't ya' know |
|
She took me for some coin-op blow |
|
The Japanese work so damn hard |
|
For me, it's mommy's credit card |
|
I'll sleep all day in last night's clothes |
|
Have a beer, powder my nose |
|
What then |
|
What then |
|
Their beds are short, their toilets stink |
|
Aki Bono, the ex-sumo king |
|
Parades around in underwear |
|
I'm far from home, but don't know where |
|
The colors match so perfectly |
|
Not to mention, temperly |
|
Porcelain, topped off with pee |
|
Traditional insanity |
|
Their beds are short, their toilets stink |
|
Aki Bono, the ex-sumo king |
|
Parades around in underwear |
|
I'm far from home, but don't know where |
|
The beds are short are short |
|
But, that's okay |
|
We only use them to fornicate |
|
If I knock her up |
|
What then |
|
I'm out of dodge with all her yen |
|
As I mill around the lobby folks |
|
The custom dictates you must smoke |
|
With cancers and carcinogens |
|
I need to find some air that's thin |
|
My entire life |
|
I've lived this way |
|
Like a vagabond, the punk rock way |
|
Travel the globe and scream at kids |
|
Fillin' water bottles up with piss |
|
What then |
|
What then |
|
Their beds are short, their toilets stink |
|
Aki Bono, the ex-sumo king |
|
Parades around in underwear |
|
I'm far from home, but don't know where |