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With a face like a crab's bus ticket And skin like a llama's door mat He was always gonna struggle Nature had seen to that He dreamt of those old-fashioned movies Where Bogart gets the dame But a lorry load of Lorre Is still the score of pain And he sings I may be ugly But I've got the bottle-opener He may be fat but he's got the cork-screw And in the party party politics of this ugly fame There is no orderly queue With a chin like a tramp's jukebox And eyes like a rhino's ash-tray It was always going to be pantomime That made him sing and dance anyway When you feel like London And you look like Hull You think Travolta pulled Newton, John Who did John Hurt pull? Songtexte And they compliment the compliment And it's driving you insane It's like talking to a helicopter When you know that you're a plane Breath like a mountain goat's satchel Nose like a pool of sick But you always leave your flies ahoy 'Cause the world wants to suck your dick Let it suck! And he sings I may be ugly But I've got the bottle-opener He may be fat but he's got the cork-screw And in the party party politics of this ugly fame There is no orderly queue Aus Songtexte Mania