Deep
in the bosom of suburbia
Where the sweet and sour roam
Cat suits mix with Mao suits
And windows throw open the erogenous zone
A pair of old
mingers with dark chocolate fingers
Are half dressed for cock tales at eight
Fruity and butch with that mandarin touch
Ming Dynasty on a plate
Enter
Madam Butterfly, tiger's eye, objectify
The soul of the beholder, who nobody knows
In fine bone china and pantyhose
She says yeah,then no then maybe, saying happy
hour is nice
And warms up a spread of Yung Chow Fried Rice
A lone wolf with
a well-thumbed menu in his hand
Ignites a nine dragon incense burner
A paper-hanging gent who hangs it out for Lent
Love you long time, happy returner
He calls out
an order of salt and pepper squid
Laid on a bed of mixed veg
And from the deepest recesses of his trouser
He pulls out a healthy wedge
Enter
Madam Butterfly, tiger's eye, objectify
The soul of the beholder, who nobody knows
In fine bone china and pantyhose
She says yeah,then no then maybe, saying happy
hour is nice
And warms up a spread of Special Fried Rice
Playing snakes
and ladders from the bottom rung
Swapping sweet and sour in a foreign tongue
Another Knight to Bishop, taking out the prawns
Through herbacious borders and manicured lawns
Gung Ho Kung Po and Bo Diddley squat
Pasting the dragon, embroidering the lot
John Wayne Chow Mein, shoot 'em up once again
While making
a fist in the finger bowl
After deep fried banana in syrup
An aromatic jockey is thrown from his mount
His precious stones caught in a stirrup
Walking home the long way with an Elvis leg
And a trouserful of less than before
He'd kill for another crispy duck with extra
plum sauce
And whatever he could scrape up off the floor
Enter
Madam Butterfly, tiger's eye, objectify
The soul of the beholder, who nobody knows
In fine bone china and pantyhose
She says yeah,then no then maybe, saying happy
hour is nice
And warms up a spread of Beanshoots and Rice
