When I saw his face and I was a believer It was the automatic rifles the Nintendos and the Segas And the half a dozen dead disciples He claimed to be the son of God But like many a fruitcake before him Maybe he really was And meanwhile a black Maria Leaves the hallowed halls of justice under a hail of phlegm and fire From the a**embled vigil-aunties and uncles Hot Dogs! Ices!
Mid day crisis! Ippa dippa dation no operation Too many people at the station me rest of life's fall-out patients Who wake up every morning smiling Stretching, yawning, breakfast-timing Cut in slices, toasted brown when the mid day crisis comes around And no, I don't want to see your leaflets I lost my faith with my taste for sausages and Hot dogs! Ices! Mid day crisis!