Da depressa a realista

Happiness is a Warm Gun

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She’s not a girl who misses much.

Do do do do do do- oh yeah…


She’s well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand like a lizard on
a window pane



The man in the crowd with the multicoloured mirrors on his hobnail
boots.



Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy


working overtime.


A soap impression of his wife which he ate and donated to the National
Trust.



I need a fix ‘cause I’m going down-



Down to the bits that I left uptown.


I need a fix cause I’m going down.


Mother Superior jumped the gun!


Mother Superior jumped the gun!


Mother Superior jumped the gun!


Mother Superior jumped the gun!



Happiness is a warm gun.



Happiness is a warm gun, yes it is.


When I hold you in my arms,


when I feel my finger on your trigger.


Don’t you know, nobody can do me no harm.


Because happiness is a warm gun, momma.


Happiness is a warm gun, yes it is.


Happiness is a warm, yes it is…


Gun!


Well don’t ya know that happiness is a warm gun, momma?

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