Such a sensitive opinion in one so young

Would you like to know about everything

That we've done

You believe what you read in the printed lies

But you won't believe the evidence

Of your own eyes

And yes I've done a lot of things

You'd probably call a crime

But I don't feel guilty for anything



CHORUS:

All the tongues waggle

But we just smile

That'll keep the little buggers

Going for a while



... here comes some text which isn't printed



How, how you love it, how you love it

You go out and you find it

How you love it, how you love it



Such horror, oh such a farce

Just a little bit of broken glass

You should think yourself lucky

That this was done

You'll have something you can whine

About for years to come ...



CHORUS:

All the tongues waggle ...



Me thinks the lady doth protest too much



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