Let me put my arms
|
around your head
|
Gee, it's hot, let's go to bed
|
Don't forget to turn on the light
|
Don't laugh babe, it'll be alright
|
Pour me out another phone
|
I'll ring and see
|
if your friends are home
|
Perhaps the strange ones in the dome
|
Can lend us a book we can read up alone
|
|
And try to get it on like once before
|
When people stared in Jagger's eyes
|
and scored
|
Like the video films we saw
|
|
[CHORUS]
|
His name was always Buddy
|
And he'd shrug and ask to stay
|
She'd sigh like Twig the Wonder Kid
|
And turn her face away
|
She's uncertain if she likes him
|
But she knows she really loves him
|
It's a crash course for the ravers
|
It's a Drive-in Saturday
|
|
Jung the foreman prayed at work
|
That neither hands nor limbs would burst
|
It's hard enough to keep formation
|
amid this fall out saturation
|
|
Cursing at the Astronette 8
|
Who stands in steel
|
by his cabinet
|
He's crashing out with Sylvian
|
The Bureau Supply
|
for ageing men
|
|
With snorting head he gazes to the shore
|
Which once had raised a sea
|
that raged no more
|
Like the video films we saw
|
|
[CHORUS]
|
It's a Drive-in Saturday [repeat]
|
|
-----------------
|
Drive-In Saturday
|
| David Bowie |
