Happiness is a Warm Gun

She's not a girl who misses much
Do, do, do, do, do, do, oh, yeah

She's well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand
Like a lizard on a window pane
The man in the crowd with the multicolored mirrors
On his hobnail boots

Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy
Working overtime
A soap impression of his wife which he ate
And donated to the National Trust

I need a fix 'cause I'm going down
Down to the bits that I left uptown
I need a fix 'cause I'm going down

Mother Superior, jump the gun
Mother Superior, jump the gun
Mother Superior, jump the gun
Mother Superior, jump the gun

Happiness is a warm gun
(Bang, bang, shoot shoot)
Happiness is a warm gun

When I hold you in my arms
And I feel my finger on your trigger
I know nobody can do me no harm
Because happiness is a warm gun
Yes, it is