Tra-la, la-tra-la, tra-aa-la, la
Tra-la, la-tra-la, tra-aa-la, la
Tra-la, la-tra-la, tra-aa-la, la
Tra-la, la-tra-la, tra-aa
In your snatch fits pleasure
Broom-shaped pleasure
Deep greedy and googling every corner
La-tra-la, tra-aa-la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
Dead in the middle of the C-O-double M-O-N
Little did I know then
That the Mandela Boys
Soon become Mandela Men
Tall woman, pull the pylons down
And wrap them around the necks
Of all the feckless men
That queue to be the next
Steepled fingers
Ring la-la-la-la-la-la-leaders
Que-queue jumpers
Rock, fist, paper, scissors
La-la-la-la-lingered fluffers
In your hoof lies the heartland
Where we tent for our treasure
Pleasure, leisure, les yeux
It's all in your eyes
In your snatch fits pleasure
Broom-shaped pleasure
Deep greedy and googling every corner
Tra-la, la-tra-la, tra-aa-la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la
Oooo-ooh
Blended by the lights
Writer(s): Thomas Green, Joe Newman, Augustus Unger Hamilton, Gwilym Sainsbury
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