She’s not a girl who misses much.
Do-do-do-do-do-do do, oh yeah.
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 multicoloured mirrors on his hobnail boots.
Lying with his hands,
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,
Mother Superior, jump the gun,
Mother Superior, jump the gun.
Happiness is a warm gun, (Bang, bang, shoot, shoot)
Happiness is a warm gun, momma. (Bang, bang, shoot, shoot)
When I hold you in my arms, (Ooh, oh yeah)
And I feel my finger on your trigger, (Ooh, oh yeah)
I know nobody can do me no harm, (Ooh, oh yeah)
Because –
Happiness is a warm gun, momma, (Bang, bang, shoot, shoot)
Happiness is a warm gun, yes it is, (Bang bang, shoot, shoot)
Happiness is a warm, yes it is…
Gun! (Happiness… Bang, bang, shoot, shoot)
Well, don’t you know that happiness
Is a warm gun, yeah.
(Happiness… is a warm gun, yeah)