Wired up to the system is the father Plugging in, cueing up, making digital whoopie Never before in the history of all Has organic and mechanic come together so sweetly Now computing in italics and write protected Reading out - its a boy! She's faxing and having a baby The father stumbles to the ground Gasps for air but makes no sound Dies thinking it was impossible - Chorus - Half machine and half of me Wonder what he'll grow to be The boy don't dig no jazz cos he's joy Hiding out, underground, raving in techno fashion Always out all night cause robots don't sleep Embraced by all of the freaks calling him The terminator He gave them piercings for free Part of the scene, a wirey structure Only problem seems, he has no culture Dead stereo panned, joy's mechanical pride Vacuum tubes and vcr's make jill the mechanical bride - Chorus - Look inside his motorola mind Know there's nothing interesting to find The boy don't dig no jazz cos he's joy No sense of smell No change in mood No sense of taste Joy, he don't need food He can't be stopped Immune to the digital cancer No sense at all Joy, the new romancer Look inside his motorola mind Know there's nothing interesting to find The boy don't dig no jazz cos he's joy!