King Bing

Mmm, you ugly beautiful thing
Oh yeah!
Oh yeah!
Oh yeah!

You ugly beautiful thing
I'm in between your head and your sting
I'm pulling out your wings
One by one till you sing
Like K-K-King Bing, yeah

Oh you beautiful thing
I'm in between the poor people and the king
Pulling out dough cheques
Drinking Castro now becks
Plugging your TV flex
Into my kex
I dare you to change the fucking channel
Now
Look at me, puss!

Ug-ly beautiful thing
I'm between your head and your sting
Pulling out your wings
One by one till you sing
Like King, King Bing

Ugly beautiful thing
How I sing with your plastic ring
On the tips of my broken wing
Ooh, I'm so shy
When you ride up so high
And I cry
'Cause I can see the possibility
That you might one day die

Ooh baby, cool
You know that thing
That thing you do that I love
You keep doing it, doing it, doing it
I can't get over that thing
That thing that you keep, keep doing
Doing it, doing it, doing it
Drives me mad, I love it
Do it, do it, do it, do it!
Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah
Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah

Calm down son, sing the fucker like a baby
Yeah mom, I'm bad
You ain't a bad son, son
You're a fucking king
You're the son of God, you're mine
I'm Mary, I made you
I forgive you baby, come morning

Bada bing bada bang
Bada bing bada boom boom boom
Bada bing bada bang
Bada bing bada boom boom boom
Bada bing bada bang
Bada bing bada boom boom boom
Bada bing bada bang
Bada bing bada boom boom bang

King, the word king
Son, I call you a king
You ain't poor, king
You're the king

Ug-ly beautiful thing
I'm between your head and your sting
Pulling out your wings
One by one till you sing like King Bing

Ug-ly beautiful thing
Bada bing bada boom
You ain't Buddha, you ain't Harry
You ain't even the artist formerly known as Prince
Ah, ah, ah
You're a king!
You're a king!
You're a king!
You're a king!

Ugly beautiful thing
Ugly beautiful thing
See what all that means
Is that blue is really yellow
You grow old, you mellow
Orange turns green
It's rust, it's things rotting
It's Mike and
A thousand CDs
To virgin the hour price of all the HMPs
Wish I'd thought of it
It's so cool
It's music for thick people
Lowest common denomination
All hidden under the steeple
Roof tiled and hatched with weeds
Big tits and tight behinds
With guile hatched in the minds
Of men who stack singles for one ninety-nine
Get the fucker in the charge
Charge three ninety-nine
Take a cut of the sublime
Of the artist, of the public
Of the quick to buy and slow to think
Hey, that's why

You know I know
When will people realize that if you put shit on the damn set
And spin it at 45 RPM, 120 BPM
You'll still hear it stink
I'm outta here, whatever, amen

You ugly beautiful thing
You ugly beautiful thing
You ugly beautiful thing
You ugly beautiful thing
You ugly beautiful thing
You ugly beautiful thing
You ugly beautiful beautiful
Ugly ugly beautiful
Ugly ugly beautiful beautiful
Ugly beautiful ugly ugly beautiful
Ugly beautiful ugly beautiful thing
Oh, getting into the camera
Quiet territory here, man
Fucking stop it, yeah
Shut the drummer up
Shoot it in the ass
Saxophone, fuck off
Bad jazz for white folks, assholes