the brit fake and fade;
in the sun, looking for shade,
everybody on their road gets way-laid.
its the time of the howling moon,
a couple of years and everybodys' a pantaloon.
how can i get to the moon;
when the bagpiper forgets his tune.
its crazy to be here;
but better than to be nowhere.
evrybody is taken for a ride;
the lucky one ends up with the bride.
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