Hang On to Yourself - David Bowie

Well she’s a tongue twisting storm

She’ll come to the show tonight

Praying to the light machine

She wants my honey not my money

She’s a funky-thigh collector

Laying on electric dreams

Well come on, come on

We’ve really got a good thing going

Well come on, well come on

If you think we’re going to make it

You better hang on to yourself

We can’t dance, We don’t talk much

We just ball and play

But then we move like tigers on Vaseline

Well the bitter comes out better on a stolen guitar

You’re the Blessed

We’re The Spiders From Mars

Well come on, come on

We’ve really got a good thing going

Well come on, well come on

If you think we’re going to make it

You better hang on to yourself

Come on

Lay it on

Well come on, come on

We’ve really got a good thing going

Well come on, well come on

If you think we’re going to make it

You better hang on to yourself

Come on, ah, come on, ah, come on, ah, come on, ah

Come on, ah, come on, ah, come on, ah, come on, ah

Come on, ah, come on, ah, come on, ah, come on, ah

Come on, ah, come on, ah, come on, ah, come on, ah