The Wind-Up Birds - Improvising
The improvised comedy got pretty fucking nasty
The sun was too hot and the crowd were too antsy
And the flowers on the memorial benches were dying
The bandstand was jam-packed with rotting fruit
And the armed response didn't know who to shoot first
The one's who told the truth or the one's who were lying
All the dogshit bins were full again
The fish in the nets were praying for rain
And the writer from the local paper broke down crying
The ice cream man in the ice cream van
Spooned the poison into place with his badly tattooed hand
And the people from the wrong part of town just kicked the sky in
Dance around the mushroom rings
But pull the plug if the fat Nazis sing
The stalls say everything's half price but nobody's is buying
The model boats have bombs aboard
The treasurer's hung himself with his own cords
And no one has cut him down
No one's even trying
Written by:
John Ackroyd
Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
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