Well she's a tongue twisting storm, she will come to the show tonight Praying to the light machine She wants my honey not my money she's a funky-thigh collector Layin' on 'lectric dreams
So come on, come on we've really got a good thing going Well come on, well come on If you think we're gonna make it You better hang on to yourself
We can't dance, we don't talk much We just ball and play But then we move like tigers on vaseline Well the bitter comes out better on a stolen guitar You're the blessed, we're the Spiders from Mars
