one day I'll ask Roger Daltrey to fuck me
just because I look at him through Pete's eyes
when Townshend turns deaf I'm gonna show my teeth
and tell their manager that real eyes realise real lies
what sort of make-up those men are wearing underneath?
and I'll stop lacquering reality with poetry and ryme
gonna tear Daltrey's chest apart and present him with a wreath
tell me: why don't you fuck me now when we're in our prime?