The Bloody Doors Off

Defecting Russian dancers dance into Hockney prints
Exclusive to Bloomingdales, gift-wrapped in red from the land of blue rinse
They boggle at menus in Olde English verse
“Ode to burger” by Keats at his worst
The hissing of omelettes, the breaking of legs
Don’t shoot ’till you see the whites of their eggs
The pink fillet mignon looks black on the negs
Strange apparatus, you’ve never seen
Strange apparatus, even stranger theme
Street alligators, big Anglophile will navigate us through a change of style
I came, I saw, what manner of beast is this?
New York, you talk a little bit left of centre
A scream, a shout
New York is throwing it’s weight around
Walk tall, walk straight, spit the world right in the eye
The stronger the wood, the straighter the arrow
Dismembered hopeful My-Lai veterans queuing for sleaze
“Sorry no dogs, no fags, no shriners and no amputees”
Sexual athlete applies for audition
Willing to make it in any position
Just one of the extras with blood on their faces
In snow-white and the seven basket cases
I’m happy and dopey and dirty in places

10cc, An Englishman in New York