Well, she's a tongue-twisting storm
She'll come to the show tonight
Praying to the light machine
She wants my honey, not my money
She's a funky-thigh collector
Laying on electric dreams

Well, come on, come on
We've really got a good thing going
Well, come on, well, come on
If you think we're gonna make it
You better hang on to yourself

We can't dance, we don't talk much, we just ball and play
But then we move like tigers on Vaseline
Well, the bitter comes out better on a stolen guitar
You're The Blessed, we're The Spiders From Mars

Well, come on, come on
We've really got a good thing going
Well, come on, well, come on
If you think we're gonna make it
You better hang on to yourself

Come on
Lay it on

Yeah, come on, come on
We've really got a good thing going
Well, come on, well, come on
If you think we're gonna make it
You better hang on to yourself

Well, come on, come on
We've really got a good thing going
Well, come on, well, come on
If you think we're gonna make it
You better hang on to yourself

Come on, ah, come on, ah
Come on, ah, come on, ah
Come on, ah, come on, ah
Come on, ah, come on, ah
Come on, ah, come on, ah

Come on, ah, come on, ah
Come on, ah, come on, ah
Come on, ah, come on, ah
Come on, ah, come on, ah
Come on, ah, come on, ah