Bing bong, no danger
Is this love, man? No, it's pure hate
Get the hillbillies down , set out to bugger
What sleeps in your bed, is got to be a geek Ted
Diggers mothers, switch on the cooker
There's no room, it's just pure art room
All the things going on inside your built bomb
Bing bong, no danger
Here goes a sweet freak
Bing bong, the weekday
If you put it on the table, it'll be to late
Is this love, man, it's pure hate
It's dangerous to let the freaky dink in
How many fools do you get in the schools
Chopper up, cooker, give me some smother
Happy Christmas, I said, not to speak then
Of an English county classroom?
A matter of fact, without any tact
Sweet freak, pen and ink
I can't stand the thought of the dwarf bein' a mother
Bing bong, the weekday
Is this love man? No it ain't
And you swear, you naughty meathead
Bing bong, no danger
Sweet freak pen and ink
Of an English county [Incomprehensible]?
It can't be more simple, it's there on a plate
There's no room, it's just pure art room
Sweet freak pen and ink
To imitate some kind of life form
You can go on back you, you shouldn't have been burn
I can launch it with a poker, no joker for a weekday
All the things going on inside your bill bong
Is this love, man? No, it's pure hate
Happy Christmas, when's it's next week then
It opens its mouth, there's no words, just a squeak
How many fools do you get in the school
How do we get these [Incomprehensible] dogs to think?
You try very hard to get that right
How do you make a bulldog think?
Bing bong, the sweet freak
