One, two, three
One, two, three
This is me and my big scene
I'm happily bruised from a weekend spent with you
On your back on the bed
You put your legs up straight and said that I'm meant
To have your feet pushed firm to my stomach
With our fingers locked and my palms on yours
My toes parted way with the floor
I leant in and you helped me to soar
I lifted my arms skyward
This time next week I will be
Your very own flying machine
Your very own flying machine
There's nothing worth singing but babadadada
'Cause these words will run right out
Nothing's fun anymore
Let's count to four in 3/4 time
And stop when we get tongue tied
One, two, three, four
One, two, three, four
One, two, three, four
One, two, three
"Did you say fuck?"