Look Mum, No Hands!
Business as usual starts with the sound
Of another damn funeral march through the town
One less for St Nicholas
There's nothing as vile
Or as sad or ridiculous
As the coffin of a child.
He flies through the air with the greatest of ease
That daring young man in the blue dungarees
Shot down by the G-force of a semtex surprise
He bucks like a seahorse, keels over and dies
With his eyes all dramatic, glazed and confused
The full metal jacket, trousers and shoes
CHORUS
And his poor, pathetic parents
So stricken with grief
That they spelled his name wrong on his funeral wreath
They're appealing for no vengeance
On behalf of their son
But they've already assembled
And planted the bomb
CHORUS
.....look mum, no hands!