Hey bugger me, now where's mi clogs?. Sunday cap and Sunday togs. Come along and pare some shins. Winner often wins. Hey ho! And away we go!. Kick your opponent's shins, oh!.
There's pedal bikes and motor bikes. And now they're riding mountain bikes. Up and down and out of town. Over, under, through, around. I ride my little bicycle, I ride it to the top.
Me liking you is not likely to be true anytime soon. Staring at me won't make me believe that I want you around. Looking at me it's easy to see that you're bringin me down.
Remember Mexico '86?. "Dirty" Diego, the Saint and Greaves. All covering up the cracks of an economic crisis. What the cameras don't show the viewers won't notice.
I get excited at the thought of you. Growing up to be the girl I knew. In my dreams. . Silly me I must have overslept. Maybe never didn't get here yet.
Out, mixed up in a crowd. Christopher and loud. Looking for a long lost friend. Window to the street. Tarot cards so neat. She said she could see my soul.
I saw one legged skiers, agile and graceful. In and out the slalom, rushing ever downwards. And there weren't any losers. I saw marathon runners, strong and determined.
Hot and dangerous. If youre one of us, then roll with us. Cause we make the hipsters fall in love. And weve got hot-pants on and up. And yes of course we does.
Give me strength to be sweet passion fruit. Make me tall make me Courtney cute. Maybe rich help me see precious things. Help me mend these broken wings.
There's entertainment. There's politics. There's popular culture. There's dialectics. But never the twain shall meet. Never the twain shall meet. This is a myth, propagated by the bourgeois wordsmiths.
[MUSIC BY TATSU MIKAMI / LYRICS BY YOSHIAKI NEGISHI]. . PLEASE LET ME INSIDE. OPEN YOUR DOOR. I'M HERE TO CHOKE YOU DOWN. . SHOW ME YOU'RE SMILING. AND HEAR ME YOUR CRYING.
You'd drop my hand to change my view. Break and bend till I lose to you. Drawing conclusions color in what you miss. You paint this picture of me just two eyes and a kiss.
That golden era. That golden era. David Bedford, Georgie Best. Olga Korbutt, Eddie Mercx. Tony Jacklin, Jochen Rindt. Ille Nastase, Rachael Flint. Gary Player, Clive Lloyd.
What the hell are the things we're fighting for?. (It just seems that we lost what we called our goal). Dude it feels like no wolfings anymore. (You, me get the same shit like a broken record).
Cut and clipped to make you sleek. Whipped and brushed from stall to track. Laden down with heavy pack. Or carrying rider on your back. And finally your neck is broken.
I'm stuck in one gear. Caught spinning wheels where're we going. Its not been all you said its gonna be. . Black coffee mornings. Blues station sings "I must be going".