March of the Swivelheads

Rotating head, keeps on the right side Colied up and tense remains on the lookout Expects to be shot or get given the bullet. Rotating head tries to look on the bright side of things. Rotating head, friends in high places No need to guess what he's got in that briefcase A mind like a gin-trap, one swollen ankle. The rotating head tries to stay on the right side of things, On the right side of things. Living on tip-toe, Waiting for the next step, The wages of death What a life for a swivelhead. Understand, underhand, underarm protection Each new passer-by a new wave of suspicion. In less than an hour the plane will be leaving The lights and the cameras Then sleeep on a prayer and a wing Rotating. Living on tip-toe, Waiting for the next step, The wages of death What a life for a swivelhead. Rotating head look on the bright side Colied up and tense remains on the lookout. A mind like a gin-trap, one swollen ankle. The rotating head tries to stay on the right side of things, That's the right side of things.