Tits and Terrorists

Tits and Terrorists
And swirling mists

Just when one starts to fantasize
One is cut down to real size

Men in black suits appear
And take away the can of beer

Also the wine, the cheese, and the vinegar
Are you also going to want my scottish burr?

Arrah, the tooth-paste, shampoo and soap?
Damn it, now how is one going to cope?

And you'll also be wanting my coat and shirt?
Alright, the pants too, you don't have to be so curt!

Flying in the buff through foreign skies feels odd
Who'd have thought nudity would become so mod?

But a fella can kind of get used to this business
Especially when everyone's taking it with such finesse

No sneaky glances below twelve 'O' clock
Or Scottish Kilt jokes swapped around the block

Safe landing, no bombs or any such excitement
Walk outside onto the New Delhi pavement

You've just aided Air Safety in your birthday suit in all certainty
And the fool-cop on the corner books you for public obscenity

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