John Cale - Guts

The bugger in the short sleeves fucked my wife
Did it quick and split
Back home, fresh as a daisy to Maisy, oh Maisy

And the twelve-bore it stood in the corner
Quite operatic in its self disgust
It blew him all over the living room floor
Like parrot shit, parrot spit, parrot shit was shot

Now suppose it was someone familiar
Someone we all would know
Embarrasing denouement, ne c'est pas?
Familiar hyperbole
And there would go the secret plot
The piss had missed the hole in the pot
Like that ancient teenage dream
From soul to poison soul to poison soul

Guts, guts, got no guts
And stitches don't help at all
Guts, guts, got no guts
Holes in the body, holes in the legs
Holes in the forehead, holes in the head
Holes in the body, holes in the legs
There should never be holes at all
There should never be holes at all