Chinese masseuse,
comes between us talks in haikus,
plastic venus.
Got a headrush,
in her pocket two rubbers two lubes,
and a silver rocket.
Hang on,
hang onto your IQ,
to your ID hang on,
hang on to your IQ,
to your ID I'm lonely Every morning,
my eyes will open wide I gotta get high,
before I go outside.
Roll another,
for breakfast burning clouds around,
and in my solar plexus.
Hang on,
hang on to your IQ,
to your ID hang on,
hang on to your IQ,
to your ID I'm lonely Legs eleven,
makes me stay up late two fat ladies on my back,
and now it's 88.
I'm a fool,
whose tool is small it's so miniscule,
it's no tool at all.
Hang on,
hang on to your IQ,
to your ID hang on,
hang on I'm lonely Oh