The Three Investigators
Spencer Skeete
Which, to ask;
Or demand;
Or to deviate
From the plan
The starving tramps slobber on our hands
So let's excise their salivary glands
This side of paradise
Has looked pretty drab
Ever since we started
Picking at our scabs
And where your first born son lies
There's a barren patch where the grass won't grow
The Three Investigators are already on the case
I have inherited something I don't want
I can smell you through these thin walls
Coffee's getting cold while she's drowning in the lake
What a shame, what a sorrow
We'll have to break our golf to heat it up tomorrow
But the Three Investigators are already on the case