Fancy lad, fancy lad
How'd you blow your inheritance, fancy lad?
Sing me your parents' embarrassment, fancy lad
Sing to me, you pink-flowering thorn
You never asked to be born
Your woes, they shine like tiny gemstones
What an exquisite collection
Such an exquisite collection
Shall I tell you if they're real or not,
Before I cut them to perfection?
Who better to bedeck you?
Such an exquisite collection
Fancy lad, fancy lad
How'd you blow your inheritance, fancy lad?
Sing me your parents' embarrassment, fancy lad
Sing to me, you pink-flowering thorn
You never asked to be born
Your wound, wherever did you find it?
Wet petalled like a vagina
Wet petalled like a vagina
Shall I straighten this crooked boutonni탨re?
It shouldn't be pinned onto your coat
Plant it deep in your heart's hole
Wherever did you find it?
Fancy lad, fancy lad
How shall I write your biography, fancy lad?
Five-hundred diary pages about your dad
Sing to me, you pink-flowering thorn
You never asked to be born
You never asked to be born
You'll live, you'll live
All cried-out like a girl
But you'll live
Mama's little mixed-up man