we tell you how to save the world, we even have to tell you why
but you're too ego-testicle to ever even try
the time is now & never moreso, still you want to binge & peugeot
sitting in your metal box with brave & manly central locks
I'm sure that it's so very comfortable there in the lap of luxury
but where the hell do you get off in calling it necessity?
'cos I've looked into the matter & all I really need
is a half-a-dozen mars bars & my aluminium steed

goth on a bicycle, the icicle is dripping on the stone
& though I am outnumbered, still I know I'm not alone
all your rage & your agression, let the pent-up anger fly
'cos you're looking at the future as it's waving you goodbye

you know that nothing lasts forever, that the world is changing fast
but I fear your expectation's simply clinging to the past
you'll have to face it, your obsession isn't glamorous I fear
although you're under that impression 'cos they told you so on Top Gear
your penis size can be converted when your car's length is inserted
in a ratio inverted - unless I've got that wrong
but I'm a car-avoiding hero, so the sums divide by zero
by my calculations, that makes my dick infinitely long