Had a little bit to drink

There's a little thing I want at a do out East

Nothing too emotional, my good miss

I couldn't be serious in a room full of jack-knife eyes

Stop talking 'bout the years - you sound like Louis Burdett

And we roll on to my backshed, play some poker, scratch my head

Look at the sky and spot the planes, where would I go on holidays?

Roll with the punches, down the aisles, and down the street the weeks roll by

I'm chewing ice and grinning, I'm spewing up and spinning

It's billiousness as usual in my corner of the kitchen

Hey you, lose that friend before we go anywhere

What? Someone might see you alone?

Stop bagging out the band, you sound like Louis Burdett

All my friends are fuck-ups but they're fun to have around

Banana chairs out on the concrete, telling stories to the stars

how Gemini's love Wooden Dragons, and how down the street the weeks roll by

The moment the night wears off, the bombsite reappears

They're all asleep but the morning tastes like wine

It tastes like wine in Tempe

I feel so good I just might wake him up

Pat him on the bald head - tell me about a dream Louis, something

obscene Louis, your life's an open magazine Louis

I'm stoned in a bookshop, sober in a nightclub

Sex is everywhere but nowhere 'round me

By the time she gets to Marrickville we'll be masturbating

never rains in Tempe but the planes remind me of family money and the lack down here

Stop talking frustrated, 'cause I sound like Louis Burdett

Most of my friends are very fruity indeed, such fun to have around

Terror, like charity, begins at home

Chris don't like madness, but madness likes him

He's got a finger in his chest saying how it should have been