In your snatch fits pleasure, broom-shaped pleasure Deep greedy and googling every corner La, tra-la, tra-a-la, la-la-la-la-la-la-la
Dead in the middle Of the C-O double-M O-N Little did I know then That the Mandela Boys soon become Mandela Men
Tall woman Pull the pylons down And wrap them around the necks Of all the feckless men that queue to be the next
Steepled fingers Ring la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-leaders Queue-queue
Jumpers to rock Fist, paper, scissors, la-la-la-la-la-la-lingered fluffers The choir in your hoof lies the heartland Where we tent for our treasure, pleasure, leisure Les yeux, itâs all in your eyes
In your snatch fits pleasure, a broom-shaped pleasure Deep greedy and googling every corner
Tralala, trala, tra-la, la-la-la-la-la-la-la Oh, oh, oh, oh, blinded by the lights