I don't listen to the Birds, my Transistor is more fun
When I'm lying taking my Tient, under the electric Sun
It's so plastic, and I like that - I don't like Things when they are real
I like the artificial kind - sex appeal
I don't count the Stars, I count the Aeroplanes in the Sky
No wonder why I love You, You know exactly why
We don't need to make love, You've got yours and I've got mine
We can do it seperately, whatching Tele - thats fun
We don't need to have no Children, they just scream and drives You mad
We can by at Plasticbaby, that can say both Mom and Dad
And when You sqeeze it on the Tommy, It can whisper "I love You"
Is there anything else a Father needs to know?
And they don't smoke Mariuanna, or get killed out in the Streets
They just stay there where You've put them to Bed, between pink Sheets
I don't pick any Flowers, I pick broken Plasticknifes
And I ask You will You be my Whife, and clean my House
It's so plastic, and I like that - I don't like Things when they are real
I like the artificial kind - sex appeal
12 sånger på amerikanska
Robert Broberg