<i>One, two; one, two, three, four...</i>
All you conceive of is self Race in the morning you'll tell If you can see for to score
Small but the measures are large With the pleasures in charge Sweep like the scope of an arm
Still we try and lie and cry A spry but stumbling gain A gift for the bye bye babe On the wrong side of the bay
All you conceive of is self Race in the morning you'll tell If you can see for to score
So small but the measures are large With the pleasures in charge Sweep like the scope of an arm
Still we try and lie and cry A spry but stumbling gain A gift for the bye bye babe On the wrong side of the bay