Aching To Pupate Songtext / Lyric

Aching to pupate

Aching to pup-p-p-pate



Aching to pupate

Aching to pup-p-p-pate



Aching to pupate

Aching to pup-p-p-pate



Aching to pupate

Aching to pup-p-p-pate

Pu-pupate, pu pate,

Pu-pate, pu-pupate, pu pa-ate...



I should peddle butterflies

There's a shortage in the city,

I'll stand on the street corner

All mysterious and giddy,

When the passers by pass by

I will open up my trench coat,

They will see the butterflies

Dangling like fake rolexes...






Every morning I wake up

With a purpose and a smirk

I'll put on my fake mustache,

I'll drink Heineken, eat cornflakes...



Then I'll call my mum and dad

Tell them that I'm doing fine,

Or I'll write a tipsy letter

To a real good friend of mine,

Or I'll jump upon the bed

Waltzing madly with the broomstick

But before I leave the house

I will fill my lips with lipstick...



But peddling is a dirty sport

There's competition in the city,

Everyone is on a street corner

All mysterious and giddy.

Some are selling bags and shoes,

Some are selling books and gold,

I've been standing here for days

Not one butterfly's been sold...



And how I'm

Aching to pupate

Aching to pup-p-p-pate



Aching to pupate

Aching to pup-p-p-pate



Aching to pupate

Aching to pup-p-p-pate



Aching to pupate

Aching to pup-p-p-pate

Pu-pu-pate, pupate,

Pupate, pu-pu-pate, pu pa-ate.