Happiness Is A Warm Gun sing and play along

She's not a girl

who misses much.

Du du du du du du.

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 the multicolored 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 goin' down,

down to the bits that I left uptown.

I need a fix 'cause I'm goin' down.

Mother Superior, jump the gun,

Mother Superior jump the gun.

Mother Superior, jump the gun,

Mother Superior jump the gun.

Happiness is a warm gun.

Happiness is a warm gun, mama.

Ooh, When I hold you.

ooh, in my arms yeah.

and I feel my fin ger on your trig ger,

yeah. I know nobod y can do me no harm because yeah.

Happiness is a warm gun, mama.

Happiness is a warm gun, yes it is.

Happiness is a warm, yes it is,

gun.

Well, don't you know that happiness is a warm gun,

mama. Yeah.