“Come now, Vince”, she said
“We can’t continue in this way
Seems to me there’s something on your mind
Should I accept a ride
In a tiny craft about your head
Tell me, Vince, the truth
What would I find?”

Horse-drawn yawns upon the driveway
Victory V ice cream in stock
Eintracht Oblong, I should oil my chain
Our front door is Sagittarius, Tibor’s kids are underfed
And Heswall Flower Club owe me one pound twelve

This is what you’d find
If you were in that craft today
Doubtless different were you to return
I would not blame you in the least
If you cut short the flight
Make good your escape
It’s not your concern

Where’s the beetroot? Where the ibex?
Dubbing mixer Freddie Slade
Alpine lockjaw, it was on the cards
Can I buy inflatable dictators anywhere round here?
Iron Age mums are haunting my cagoule
Do stew, scoop up the roadkill
Straight sets, jet-wash the Viceroy
Sore heel, shite on the back nine
Midge Ure looks like a milk thief
I said Midge Ure looks like a milk thief
Come on, Midge Ure looks like a milk thief
You’re a fine looking woman, Mirabelle
Midge Ure looks like a milk thief
You still with that chiseller Idris?
Midge Ure looks like a milk thief
Hey, he’s got the ginger beer concession outside the British Museum
Midge Ure looks like a milk thief
We should go to Halfords some time
Midge Ure looks like a milk thief
You and me – not him
Midge Ure looks like a milk thief
Midge Ure looks like a milk thief