Masturbaby

TV tells me not to worry, because
Hamburgers are cheaper than ever
When Chet baker is on prime-time
and Beatles-magazines are every day available
I’m masturbating with my tin cans
And before I know I have to scratch my back for an excitement shortage
My master needs me

I go to jail for Coca Cola
Drinking psychopaths for free
Created my own Andy Warhola
Put washing powder in my tea
I was spitting on those fascists
They were no longer alone
They dared to put me on their death list
But may be I had it all wrong

Master, master, master, may be
Mastur- Mastur- Masturbaby
Master, master, master, may be

A gardener had to interfere in my life
I didn’t call him
Didn’t even need him at all
Somebody must have hated me so much –
He sent me that gardener, but
He began immediately to dig in my garden
I didn’t even know I had one!
And guess what he found
He found Elvis’ dead body in the ground!

I go to jail for Coca Cola
Spectators are drinking my tea
Real cheap chains from Oklahoma
Black is white and smoking me
I was designing red tissues
With my masturbaby alone
I destroyed the nuts of Mister Cashew
But may be I had it all wrong

Master, master, master, may be
Mastur- Mastur- Masturbaby
Master, master, master, may be

© 1993 Song and lyrics by Paul Schenk
Protected by Buma Stemra