Oh oh the french girls with the string of pearls Think it's such a fucking shame That the local boys with their country joys Never make them daisy chains They're swapping disappointing incidents While at the docks another ship pulls in And suddenly the door breaks down (ooh la la) It's the seven deadly finns
Oh oh oh soldiers and sailors Have all been here before Gigolos and governments Have stumbled through that door Because they need all those french girls with all their kiss curls And powder in their guns And the seven finns with their deadly grins Tend to measure beauty in tuns.
The first is a freak with a masochistic streak And the second is a kitten up a tree The third is a flirt with an awful print skirt And the fourth is pretending to be me The fifth wears a mac and never turns his back The sixth never shows his eyes But the seventh deadly finn is so tall and slim He should of never been with those guys.
Although variety's the spice of life A steady rhythm is the source Simplicity's the crucial thing Systemically of course (work it all out like Norbert Wiener) So if those french girls say to you Would you like your ashes piped? You'll have to take their word for it It's the only thing to take