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Invasion Hit Parade
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Now that you set everybody free What are you going to do about me? Don't want to be treated like some poor grateful clown I'd rather go back to the sweet underground Where I can tell the time by the colour of my skin And I know my neighbour 'cause he's the one Yes he's the one Who always turns me in A woman works the tunnel in the middle of the night Picking up every lost object in sight Handbags, toupees, lost legs and fingernails The black market eats up all your failures Her transistor offers no salvation or regrets No pool, no pets, no cigarettes Just non-stop discoteques and the Sex-o-lettes There's no name (there's no name, there's no name) No name for the place or pain we'll cause you Again and again If you do not cooperate with the Invasion Hit Parade The liberation forces make movies of their own Playing their Doors records and pretending to be stoned Drowning out a broadcast that wasn't authorised Incidentally, the revolution



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