Happiness Is A Warm Gun

She's not a girl who misses much Do-do do-do do-do Oh, yeah

She's well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand like a lizard on a window pane The man in the crowd with the multicoloured mirrors on his hobnail boots Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy working overtime A soap impression of his wife which he ate and donated to the National Trust

I need a fix, 'cause I'm going down Down to the bits that I left uptown 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 (happiness) is a warm gun (bang bang, shoot shoot) Happiness (happiness) is a warm gun, mama (bang bang, shoot shoot) When I hold you in my arms (oh, yeah) And I feel (oo) my finger on your trigger (oh, yeah) I know (oo) nobody can do me no harm (oh, yeah) Because (happiness) is a warm gun, mama (bang bang, shoot shoot) Happiness (happiness) is a warm gun, yes, it is (bang bang, shoot shoot)

Happiness is a warm—yes it is—gun (happiness) (Bang bang, shoot shoot) Well, don't you know that happiness (happiness) is a warm gun (is a warm gun), mama? (Yeah)
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