He spoke a script Dipped in the sort of talk to make you keep the gaze It誷 all a trick The slicked back slimy arms have got a war to wage He誷 got a laugh like a crackling wire And he wants to put the bite marks on you He wants to put the bite marks on you And you twist my guts As the only thing that誷 repelling as his invitations Are his excuses And he said I am the conductor, Put me in a terror pocket He did a stint Master in a craft He squint through his spectacle He誨 drop a dirty hint if he thinks that he could (can) impress you with the unacceptable And he has turned through all the pages with his fingers And covered them with goo And he wants to put the bite marks on you He wants to put them on you and it hurts my back As (Because) the only thing that誷 as heavy as the adoration Is the days of hanging out on his arm And he spilled with all this sounding alarm And he frightened me to death when he said I am the conductor, Put me in a (the) terror pocket Cause he誷 trying to give me a ticket to a competition And I don誸 know why (how) the odds are stacked As he誷 rolling out the running track