Goods gone bad, but right is wrong, and I don't know which side I'm on lately.

There was a gas strike, oil strike, lorry strike, bread strike, got to be a Superman to survive.

Our repertoire consisted of rhythm and blues, sort of country rhythm and blues, Sonny Terry things.

Put all the pervs in jail, bring back the birch and cat-o-nine tails.

Money's the solution, curing all the ails of the nation. But what about the hearts of man?

We're out of control on this loony balloon, barely missing the other planets and stars.

Jogging in the park is my excuse to look at all the girls.