Tekster: Breeders. Happiness Is A Warm Gun.

She's not a girl who misses much
Do do do, oh yeah

She's well acquainted with the touch
Of a velvet hand like a lizard on a window pane
Man in the crowd with the multicolored mirrors
On his hobnail boots

Lying with his eyes, while his hands
Are busy working overtime
The sole confession of his wife which he ate
And donated to the National Trust

I need a fix 'cause I'm going down
Down to the abyss that I've left up town
I need a fix 'cause I'm going down

Mother Superior, jump the gun
Mother Superior, jump the gun
Mother Superior, jump the gun

Mother Superior, jump the gun
Mother Superior, jump the gun
Mother Superior, jump the gun

Happiness is a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun
(Bang, bang, shoot, shoot)

Josephine, do you think you are going bald?
No, you've asked me that before
And the answer was no then