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Some folk just never get a handle
hog-tied hippie whipping up a scandal
blue show when you gotta go naked
no dough so you're not gonna fake it
Black dog barking in the sunshine
small cog spinning in the combine
all night, praying for the flat line
s'alright, everything is just fine...
Criswell come flashing on the big screen
long range nut lappin' up the Brylcreem
great sound bit waiting for an old film
soft lights, cheap sherry, and a sugar pill
Sleep rough 'til they hose you off the forecourt
hang tough 'til they seize you at the airport
hot boogie-woogie chillin' at the Crown Court
you tell me...
What goes up? - Who goes down?
What goes up? - Who goes down?
Third rate blow cornering the market
aim low if you wanna hit the target
rough trade for the models and the deadbeats
get laid to the rhythm of the side streets
High-born, head-strong, crashing down the staircase
one day too long married to a straight-face
moth balls, torch songs, valium and old lace
now tell me...
What goes up? - Who goes down?
What goes up? - Who goes down?
Who goes down when the phones are ringing?
Who goes down when the tears are stinging?
What goes up? - Who goes down?
What goes up? - Who goes down?
What goes up? - Who goes down?
What goes up? - Who goes down?
© 1998 Words and Music by David Fisher
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