I sing with the voice of a donkey I sing with the lungs of a motorbike I now a little holiday paradise And Johnny Rotten is its name I'm just talking bullshitiaco I'm talking phobiaister Name it is Rotten Johnny You turn the fucking music up You opened my eyes to the music Opened my eyes to the music? Yeah, you opened my eyes I'm just talking bullshitiaco I'm talking phobiaister I've got a tattooed map of the universe all over my body I've got a mischievous grin Now Moby Dick does not exist (say it very quietly now) He's just a figment of the imagination of Herman Melville just like I am I'm just talking bullshitiaco I'm talking phobiaister If you don't get paid you are an 'ist Like a communist, a capitalist or an anarchist If you're lucky enough to get paid you are an 'er Like a worker, like a washer And a washer is part of a tap Bullshitiaco