She Makes Love Just Like A Woman.

The World Of Research Has Gone Berserk. Too Much Paper Work.

You Five And Ten Cent Women With Nothing In Your Heads, I Got A Real Gal I'm Loving And Lord I'll Love Her 'til I'm Dead.

I'm Not The Kind Of Cat That's Going To Cut Off An Ear If I Can't Do Something.

She's A Hypnotist Collector; You Are A Walking Antique.

They're Selling Postcards Of The Hanging They're Painting The Passports Brown The Beauty Parlor Is Filled With Sailors The Circus Is In Town Here Comes The Blind Commissioner They've Got Him In A Trance One Hand Is Tied To The Tight-rope Walker The Other Is In His Pants And The Riot Squad They're Restless They Need Somewhere To Go As Lady And I Look Out Tonight From Desolation Row.