Aching to pupateAching to pupateAching to pupateAching to
pupateAching to pupateAching to pupateAching to pupateAching to
pupatePu-pu-patePupatePupatePu-pu-patePupateI should peddle
butterfliesThere's a shortage in the cityI'll stand on
a street cornerMysterious and giddyWhen the passersby passbyI
will open up my trenchcoatThey will see the butterfliesDangling
like fake rolexesEvery morning i wake up with a purpose and a
smirkI'll put on a fake mustacheI'll drink a heineken
and eat cornflakesThen i'll call my mom and dadTell them
that i'm doing fineOr i'll write a tipsy letter to a
friend of mineOr i'll jump on the bed waltzing madly with
the broomstickBut before i leave the house i will fill my lips
with lipstickBut peddling is a dirty sportLots of competition in
the cityEveryone is on a street cornerAll mysterious and
giddySome are selling bags and shoesSome are selling books and
goldI've been standing here for daysNot one
butterfly's been soldAnd how i'm aching to
pupateAching to pupateAching to pupateAching to pupateAching to
pupateAching to pupateAching to pupateAching to
pupatePu-pu-patePupatePupatePu-pu-patePupate