Текст и слова песни Patrik Fitzgerald – Punch
In a small,but perfect,playpen,
They practise,badly,being grown-ups,
No-one makes the right decisions,
Throwing childish tantrums;
Their mummy never gave them a dummy,
Busy in her perfect kitchen,
Daddy gave them building bricks
And they built useless houses;
Grown as people of power now,
Parents disappear or die,
They just poke tongues out,from inside bars
At people who'd much prefer to pass them by......
He's a joke figure,taking himself serious,
A gravedigger,pretending he's mysterious,
A harmless little creep
Who keeps on telling you he's great;
Some madman masquerading as a head of state,
Punch,(joke figure)
Punch..punch..punch..
He's been sitting there for years;
I wonder who gave him his throne?
Perhaps the king of england,
Perhaps the king of rome,
Perhaps his friends or relatives,
Who won it in some war,
They practise,badly,being grown-ups,
No-one makes the right decisions,
Throwing childish tantrums;
Their mummy never gave them a dummy,
Busy in her perfect kitchen,
Daddy gave them building bricks
And they built useless houses;
Grown as people of power now,
Parents disappear or die,
They just poke tongues out,from inside bars
At people who'd much prefer to pass them by......
He's a joke figure,taking himself serious,
A gravedigger,pretending he's mysterious,
A harmless little creep
Who keeps on telling you he's great;
Some madman masquerading as a head of state,
Punch,(joke figure)
Punch..punch..punch..
He's been sitting there for years;
I wonder who gave him his throne?
Perhaps the king of england,
Perhaps the king of rome,
Perhaps his friends or relatives,
Who won it in some war,
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