Missing Persons

Silence breaking into metre at seven forty-five A game of squash with a rubber cosh is a bit like being alive Walking in and out of rooms I've made it my career I'm with it, white, well to do, what've I got to fear Dance routines with chicken queens give me square-bashed feet I like my music military, I like my women neat I like my arians well defined, I'd like to make that clear I'm white, with it, well to do, what've I got to fear Soap suds, soap operas, hard lines, makes babies sick Why can't life be run on the lines of an Edgar Lustgarden flick An ideal home where raincoats appear and disappear You think you're in the pink, you say you're in the clear Missing persons passed me by, nothing to do with me We don't see eye to eye, we get from A to B I'm not an ex-spick, wop or jew, no dago nigga queer I stay with it, white, well, wouldn't you, what have I got to fear The hungry man needs a filthy bad mouth, practice in malarcky I say how sorry I am and blame an indies darkey From the man in the street, the man in the know, man in the iron mask Need I answer your questions, need you fucking ask You want someone to shit on you, please let me volunteer I'm with it, white, well to do, what have I got to fear And my voice echoes Nuremburg, every time I speak I'm a curiosity, an atrocity, an antique Watch it brother midnight, my blacklist makes it clear If you're not with it, white, well to do, there's nothing for you here