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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