HAPPINESS IS A WARM GUN
She’s not a girl who misses much.
Do do do do do do do do
She’s well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand
Like a lizard on a window pane.
The man in the crowd with the multicolored mirrors
On his hobnail boots
Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy
Working overtime
A soap impression of his wife which he ate
And donated to the National Trust.
I need a fix ‘cause I’m going down.
Down to the bits that I left uptown.
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.
Happiness is a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun
When I hold you in my arms
And I feel my finger on your trigger
I know no one can do me no harm
Because happiness is a warm gun.
Yes it is.
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