I’m the Tin Man jazzing up his bolts / with crocodile clips and a thousand volts / staggering out of a junkyard orgy / MDMA and WD40 / meanwhile back in the emerald city / munchkins deal with the nitty gritty / flying monkeys, wicked witches / phoney wizards (sons of bitches) / still they’re used to staying chipper / stovepipe hats & bootleg liquor / happy to sell to the highest bidder / a hatful of straw, an emerald slipper / glad you’re staying, really thrilled / we welcome you to the crack pipe guild

It’s a question of assets, a quota of trust / one minute boom the next minute bust / read the room and screw the optics / you only need cash and antibiotics / I’m sorry to get all messianic / but I hate it when you start to panic / you used to be so damned dynamic / now you’re barely automatic / look at the time – it’s way past caring / take a seat and thanks for sharing

I’ve a sponge for a brain, a zip for a mouth / pupils pointing north and south / earnest, serviced, quite devout / tinker’s tailor, MP’s pout / preaching how to do without / tutting with accusing fingers / why do all these losers linger? / make my fortune, make my day / a back needs scratching – what can I say?

I’m a sexed-up clown in a town of Sundays / shining my shoes and starching my undies / dreaming of tumbles in golden showers / big top crowds and squirting flowers / throbbing red noses / wigs n’ hoses / smacking my lips as the curtain closes