I ask you nicely Get my face slapped under wraps What's going on precisely Is there something wrong perhaps? Surprise, surprise (surprise, surprise) It's more like a booby trap than a booby prize Civil disobedience From a soldier with a dirty rifle You're loosening all the screws That hold the hinges of my life Fat cats and army brats (fat cats and army brats) Hep cats and dog tag pawing over girly mags Pretty words don't mean much anymore I don't mean to be mean much anymore All I see are snapshots, bigshots, tender spots Mug shots, machine slots Till you don't know what's what You don't know what you got Curious women Running after curious men Curiosity didn't kill the cat It was a poisoned pen But there's not much choice (it's hobson's choice) Between a cruel mouth and a jealous voice Got back to London Picked a paper from the man No words of consolation Just cartoons and titter tatter Well well, fancy that (well well, fancy that) Millions murdered for a kiss me quick hat No backbone, blood and guts Better keep your big mouth shut Pretty words don't mean much anymore I don't mean to be mean much anymore All I see are snapshots, bigshots, tender spots Machine slots, mug shots Till you don't know what's what You don't know what you got You don't know what you got You don't know what you got
I ask you nicely Get my face slapped under wraps What's going on precisely Is there something wrong perhaps? Surprise, surprise (surprise, surprise) It's more like a booby trap than a booby prize Civil disobedience From a soldier with a dirty rifle You're loosening all the screws That hold the hinges of my life Fat cats and army brats (fat cats and army brats) Hep cats and dog tag pawing over girly mags Pretty words don't mean much anymore I don't mean to be mean much anymore All I see are snapshots, bigshots, tender spots Mug shots, machine slots Till you don't know what's what You don't know what you got Curious women Running after curious men Curiosity didn't kill the cat It was a poisoned pen But there's not much choice (it's hobson's choice) Between a cruel mouth and a jealous voice Got back to London Picked a paper from the man No words of consolation Just cartoons and titter tatter Well well, fancy that (well well, fancy that) Millions murdered for a kiss me quick hat No backbone, blood and guts Better keep your big mouth shut Pretty words don't mean much anymore I don't mean to be mean much anymore All I see are snapshots, bigshots, tender spots Machine slots, mug shots Till you don't know what's what You don't know what you got You don't know what you got You don't know what you got
