He's Got His Mother's Hips
John Grant
I think Colonel Mustard
Did it in the billiard room
Yeah yeah
They say his salsa workshops
Are a harbinger of doom
Yeah yeah
He’s takin’ itsy bitsy
Super pointy stipsies
Straight to the middle of the dancefloor
He does the Hokey Pokey
Now the room is getting smokey
He won’t read you your rights
Before they turn out the lights
He’s got his mother’s hips
He does the dippity-dip
He’s got delicious quips
He’s got his mother’s hips
He thinks he’s going downtown
And now he’s smacking his lips
He does not speak
Your language
Watch your back
His tongue is super dangerous
He’s got his thigh-highs
And his roller-skates on
You are rolling the dice
He wants you on thin ice
He’s serving cheese fondue
On the polar bear rug
But the room is bugged
You got mesmerized by the lava lamp
But now the carpet’s damp
He’s tryin’ to sell you some stamps
He’s got his mothers’ hips
He’s on an ego trip
He’s got sartorial tips
He’s got his mother’s hips
He thinks he’s going downtown
And now he’s smackin’ his lips
He’s got his mother’s hips
He does the dippity-dip
He’s got delicious quips
Now baby
He’s got his mother’s hips
He thinks he’s goin’ downtown
And now he’s smackin’ his lips
Ooh ooh ooh ooh oh
Ah ah ah ah ah ahh ahh eh
Ooh ahh eh ahh uh eh
Eh eh uh oh uh huh huh huh ha
Ho uh oh uh uh uh now woo oo
Yoo hoo he ho hoo hey haydee hee
Hee hehe ha, yeah yeah