You don't look like a hero of the Soviet Union to me
You look more like a fish
Come walking down the street and you can tell that everybody agrees
You oughtta be on a dish
You've got your mind made up, like you've got your head in a bush
And to move it around, just hurts too much

And it's no good saying you're in love with the modern world
When those streets are all filled with those impossible red-haired girls

You don't look like the spokesman for a generation to me
I've got a postage stamp here for what you know of Philosophy.
You're like Thomas Hobbes:
Nasty
Brutish
And Short

He's drawing back the curtain, it's a brand new day
There's rubble on the carpet, 'coz his friends came to stay
I'm over on the carpet, 10 years on other peoples' floors
And you learn a little something
You learn a little something that you can't ignore

And it's no good telling me you're still in love with the modern world
When those streets are all filled with those impossible red-haired
Impossible red, red, red-haired girls

Whip it on, Jim.

You betcha'

Watch that spaceman drive that car
Where he's going ain't too far

And Rebecca wants her bike back

Here it comes