Tralala, trala, tra-la, la
Tralala, trala, tra-la, la
Tralala, trala, tra-la, la
Tralala, trala, tra-la, la

In your snatch fits pleasure, a broom-shaped pleasure
Deep greedy and googling every corner

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 leaders
Queue jumpers
Rock, fist, paper, scissors
Lingered fluffers
(The choir)
In your hoof lies the heartland
Where we tent for our treasure, pleasure, leisure
Les yeux, it’s all in your eyes

In your snatch fits pleasure, a broom-shaped pleasure
Deep greedy and googling every corner

Tralala, trala, tra-la, lalalalalalala
Oh, blinded by the lights