Robyn Hitchcock & the Egyptians
Brenda's Iron Sledge
We head downhill, my hands fly backOur fingers freeze, our hair falls out, our hair falls outOur fingers freeze, our hair falls outThe iron piston pumps and spoutsThe steaming air as hot as sproutsAll aboard, Brenda's iron sledgeNo one's on top, they're comfortableThey're sitting on a human chain, a human chainThey're sitting on a human chainTheir limbs compressed in icy slushOf freezing in a raw meat grooveAll aboard, Brenda's iron sledgePlease don't call me Reg, it's not my nameThe body's rear, a bucking sledWhich hits a tree and falls asleep, and falls asleepWhich hits a tree and that is thatThe grasshoppers curl up and burstAnd Brenda shovels on the wurstAll aboard, Brenda's iron sledgePlease don't call me Reg, it's not my name
From Letras Mania