|
Sitting on the shelf when someone called my number |
|
With a template in one hand, scissors in the other |
|
'What lump of clay is this?' Said the king maker to me |
|
Dull, gray matter, perfect for his alchemy |
|
The future flesh and blood on the bones of the big lie |
|
A no-wit who's face fits and never wonders why |
|
I met my Mephistophelles, the papers sealed in blood |
|
Like I got a transfer deal the lad done good |
|
(Chorus) |
|
Good King Danbert at the helm |
|
His face on every coin of the realm |
|
And every time we sing, it's three cheers for the king |
|
Hey, hey, hey |
|
Sirhan, Sirhan, where have you gone? |
|
All mixed up |
|
We take a fool for a king |
|
All mixed up |
|
Mistake a fool for a king |
|
(Repeat) |
|
The washing powder advert |
|
That everybody hates |
|
But all the research shows that's how brand names are made |
|
Squeaky clean, no skeletons |
|
In other words I've never lived |
|
Makes me highly-qualified |
|
To decide what gives |
|
Rough-shod, riding rail-road |
|
Over all the awkward questions |
|
Queen Victoria of Grantham |
|
To give me her blessing |
|
It's written all over me |
|
I'm touched by the hand |
|
I am the something very rotten |
|
In the state of little England |
|
(Repeat chorus) |
|
All mixed up |
|
(Repeat) |
