Lyrics
In the dark
Where all the fevers grow
Under the water
Where the shark bubbles blow
In the mornin'
By yer radio
Do the walls close in t' suffocate ya
You ain't got no friends . . .
An' all the others: they hate ya
Does the life you been livin' gotta go, hmmm?
Well, lemme straighten you out
About a place I know . . .
(Now, get yer shoes 'n socks on people,
'Cause it's right aroun' the corner!)
Out through the night
An' the whispering breezes
To the place where they keep
The Imaginary Diseases,
Out through the night
An' the whispering breezes
To the place where they keep
The Imaginary Diseases . . .
Now scientists call this stupid disease
Bromidrosis
And well they should
But us regular folks
Who might wear a tennis shoe
Or an occasional python boot
Know this exquisite little inconvenience
By the name of:
STINK FOOT
How true that is!
Y'know, my python boot was too tight
I couldn't get it off last night
A week went by, an' now it's July
I finally got that sucker off
An' my girl-friend cry
"You got STINK FOOT!
STINK FOOT, darlin'
Your STINKIN' FOOT puts the hurts on my nose!
STINK FOOT! STINK FOOT! I ain't lyin',
Can you rinse it off, d'you suppose?"
Well . . . Here Fido . . . Here Fido . . . Fido!
Fido, I asked you very specifically to please bring me the slippers
(I know you did, Frank, but I was so stoned!)
Fido, I asked you to bring me the slippers and I meant it! You did not bring them and that makes you liable to punishment, to the full extent of the law, right here live on stage in Sydney, Australia.
(Oh, hurt me, hurt me, hurt me!)
Very well, then, Fido, this is for your own good . . . Sick!
Where all the fevers grow
Under the water
Where the shark bubbles blow
In the mornin'
By yer radio
Do the walls close in t' suffocate ya
You ain't got no friends . . .
An' all the others: they hate ya
Does the life you been livin' gotta go, hmmm?
Well, lemme straighten you out
About a place I know . . .
(Now, get yer shoes 'n socks on people,
'Cause it's right aroun' the corner!)
Out through the night
An' the whispering breezes
To the place where they keep
The Imaginary Diseases,
Out through the night
An' the whispering breezes
To the place where they keep
The Imaginary Diseases . . .
Now scientists call this stupid disease
Bromidrosis
And well they should
But us regular folks
Who might wear a tennis shoe
Or an occasional python boot
Know this exquisite little inconvenience
By the name of:
STINK FOOT
How true that is!
Y'know, my python boot was too tight
I couldn't get it off last night
A week went by, an' now it's July
I finally got that sucker off
An' my girl-friend cry
"You got STINK FOOT!
STINK FOOT, darlin'
Your STINKIN' FOOT puts the hurts on my nose!
STINK FOOT! STINK FOOT! I ain't lyin',
Can you rinse it off, d'you suppose?"
Well . . . Here Fido . . . Here Fido . . . Fido!
Fido, I asked you very specifically to please bring me the slippers
(I know you did, Frank, but I was so stoned!)
Fido, I asked you to bring me the slippers and I meant it! You did not bring them and that makes you liable to punishment, to the full extent of the law, right here live on stage in Sydney, Australia.
(Oh, hurt me, hurt me, hurt me!)
Very well, then, Fido, this is for your own good . . . Sick!