(Composição: David Bowie) Ooo, she's a tongue-twisting storm She'll come to the show tonight Praying to the light machine She wants my honey, not my money She's a funky thigh-collector Laying on electric dreams Oh, come on, oh, come on We've really got a good thing going Well, come on, well, come on If you think we're gonna make it You better hang on to yourself We can't dance, we don't talk much, we just ball and play But then we move like tigers on vaseline Well, the bitter comes out better on a stolen guitar You're the blessed, we're the Spiders From Mars Well, come on, come on We've really got a good thing going Well, come on, well, come on If you think we're gonna make it You better hang on to yourself Come on, oh Lay it on Come on, come on We've really got a good thing going Well, come on, well, come on If you think we're gonna make it You better hang on to yourself Well, come on, well, come on We've really got a good thing going Well, come on, well, come on If you think we're gonna make it You better hang on to yourself Come on, ah, come on, ah Come on, ah, come on, ah Come on, ah, come on, ah Come on, ah Come on, ah Come on, ah
