DESCRIPTION:
Chinese masseuse, comes between us
Talks in haikus, plastic Venus
Got a heard rush in her pocket
Two rubbers, two lubes and a silver rocket

Hang on, hang on
To your IQ, to your ID
Hang on, hang on
To your IQ, to your ID

I'm lonely... I'm lonely... I'm lonely... I'm lonely

Every morning, my eyes will open wide
I gotta get high before I go outside
Roll another for breakfast
Burning clouds around and in my solar plexus

Hang on, hang on
To your IQ, to your ID
Hang on, hang on
To your IQ, to your ID

I'm lonely... I'm lonely... I'm lonely... I'm lonely... oh

Legs eleven, makes me stay up late
Two fat ladies on my back and now it's eighty-eight
I'm a fool whose tool is small
It's so minuscule, it's no tool at all

Hang on, hang on
To your IQ, to your ID
Hang on, hang on
To your IQ, to your ID

I'm lonely... I'm lonely... I'm lonely... I'm lonely
Oh