Euromatic black trace, and waiting for a billy-goat,
On superficial, occidental, paranoid and Sigmund Freud,
An oxymoron waiting for a stax-red mack attack,
For Abednego and vertigo,
Hey, Birmingham and Dublin mad.

Well, I'll come down,
Well, I'll come down.

Eighteen million children fly an absolute sarcastic smash to longitude on Harley Way,
To Canterbury on an egg of Sister Ordinary Trance,
And first-rate dance of attitude and mineral,
Eradicate and speculate for New York days.

Well, I drive a car; to work it's very far,
And I'm like you - I wish I were there too.

Well, I'm a trash man,
Well, I'm a superstar,
Well, I'm a paramedic,
Well, I'm a child of God.

In a daze, you've lost your make; it's hard to be yourself,
Your mind will play out its old ways; it's ok, ok, ok, a-ok.

Air romance and lodging seat,
So super-braid and demonstrate, for Jesus saves all human race,
Eleven ways to separate and make your day, and run away to pull you weight,
And tooth decay for interest rate,
Raspberry taste and showboat mate with face of cake.