Hey you!
With your face on the nightclub flyer
And the font that distorts your name
There's a man at a local phone box called Wayne
He claims that he gave you your first turntable
And a hat that you could wear indoors
He has tapes of you singing badly to sparks

In 1987 he was good with his hands
He had pharaoh's hair
And he was good with his hands
In a tie-dye frenzy
He was good with his hands
And now he's sleeping in your bathroom
Cos he's good with his hands
I said in 1987
He was good with his hands
He had pharaoh's hair
And he was good with his hands
In a tie-dye frenzy
He was good with his hands
And now he's sleeping in your bathroom
Cos he's good with his

Hey you!
With your eye on the dressing room entrance
And your feet on the crate of skol
There's a girl on the nightclub terrace called Claire
She's there!
To confront you with DNA evidence
Cos the last time you were here
You retired to her place of residence
Oh dear!
Cos in 1987 he was good with his hands
He had pharaoh's hair
And he was good with his hands
In a tie-dye frenzy
He was good with his hands
And now he's sleeping in your bathroom
Cos he's good with his hands
I said in 1987
He was good with his hands
He had pharaoh's hair
And he was good with his hands
In a tie-dye frenzy
He was good with his hands
And now he's sleeping in your bathroom
Cos he's good with his

So much for getting old
The stink of sex is undeniable!
So much for slowing down
The stink of sex is undeniable!
So much for dungarees
The stink of sex is undeniable!
So much for Tony Blair
The stink of sex is undeniable!
So much for getting old
The stink of sex is undeniable!
So much for slowing down
The stink of sex is undeniable!
So much for dungarees
The stink of sex is undeniable!
So much for Tony Blair
The stink of sex is undeniable!