Happiness Is a Warm Gun

She's well acquainted with the touch of a velvet hand like a lizard on a window pane Man in the crowd with the multicolored mirrors on his hobnail boots Lying with his eyes, while his hands are busy working overtime The sole confession of his wife which he ate and donated to the National Trust I need a fix 'cause I'm going down Down to the abyss that I've left up town I need a fix 'cause I'm going down Mother Superior, jump the gun Mother Superior, jump the gun Mother Superior, jump the gun Mother Superior, jump the gun Mother Superior, jump the gun Mother Superior, jump the gun Happiness is a warm gun, happiness is a warm gun Happiness is a warm gun (Bang, bang, shoot, shoot) Happiness is a warm gun (Bang, bang, shoot, shoot) Josephine, do you think you are going bald? No, you've asked me that before and the answer was no, then