Calculated entry in the class of circumspection Reasoning, bargaining the last few drams of spirits The serum of one's foolishness Oh, the truth be told in a cold pint head 16 ounces of pure warlord Dripping down the side of the glass, hmm ♪ Yeah, we're marching 'cross the family's' land The bagpipes and the drums Oh, the skirts are flying high me, boys Let's bust 'em in the shins No matter nothing knowing, no Nothing owing save the garden say Of a crooked hobbled garish man Oh, with sundown in his eyes, aw, in his eyes ♪ 50-year-old walking stick worn through the lion's head Carried proud like a saber on a limestone statuette Oh, the littles can't decide Which to lust for, which to desecrate Imagination sits with the marbles In a drawer, ooh ♪ A lot of slingshot song and dancing Blasting out the lead paned windows There're the wing whipped curtains sway This way like giant mockingbirds Those damned lads and lasses Have forgotten how to play Hard pressed to find the one Hard pressed to find the one Who ever learned how to sing Ay, ay, ay, mmm Slingshot Slingshot Slingshot