We love what is deep within tradition of us
Curiously a digit of hair
Discovered in a moonlit laundromat
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
A plastician rude
He's smoking on the heel of his boot
He's up a cave, he's torn through the hay
Of operatic oars to eat, to eat things of waste
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la
La, la, la, la
La, la, la
And because we're counting
We're gliding on a chicken distaff
So sad they should be holding back
Sinking in a school
And we've been waiting to get
La, la, la
La, la, la
La, la, la
La, la, la
La, la, la
La, la, la
La, la, la
La, la, la
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
Robot, Robot, it's on the road Robot, Robot, it's on the road
Robot, Robot, it's on the road Robot, Robot, it's on the road Robot, Robot, it's on the road
Robot, Robot, it's on the road Robot, Rob-o-tty
Oh, yeah.
Oh, yeah.
Oh, yeah.