She's not a girl who misses much
Do do do do do do, oh yeah
She's well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand
Like a lizard on a window pane
The man in the crowd with his multi-colored mirrors on his hobnail boots
Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy working overtime
A soap impression of his wife
Which he ate and donated to the National Trust
I need a fix 'cause I'm going down, down to the bits that I left uptown
I need a fix 'cause I'm going down
Mother Superior jump the gun
Happiness is a warm gun, happiness is a warm gun
When I hold you in my arms, I feel my finger on your trigger
I know no one can do me no harm because happiness is a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun, happiness is a warm, yes it is
Don't you know that happiness is a warm gun?
Happiness is a warm gun, yeah