You've got all the charm of a tax demand
I can't pay what you want - the figure's clearly wrong
But I know you mean business with your scarlet, white and black
Overdone - I curse my male urges and I curse behind your back

Like a fawn in a man-trap I struggle to escape the sticky floor
The metal tearing at my limbs makes me the meal you've waited for
There must be better specimens – and no I don't know where

Can we talk about something - anything else
Just to take my mind away from your hands
I have to be sick to find myself here
But why else would we stay in this city my dear?

And I've got to get out of this sickening mess
Give me TCP to ease my wounds
Hold on to your values, the skin will rejoin
A wish from the head is worth ten from the groin
And these male urges horrify me
Give me oestrogen to make it sane
Your tools are so crude let me cover my face
But I must say I like the décor of this place
Give me the cassette?