Do you think they could see us in this base circumstance

You with blood on your knees and me with my hand down your pants?

If a lad wears a dress then won't George want his sex?

[As his explorers buy butt] sex operation, decision time's come

At the end of our useful lives



We're out of the hive

We must be groovin'

We're out of the hive

in the land of the black and white minstrels



What do you call him, boyfriend or [flat bone]?

He's a sensitive artist--come on, let's leave him alone



You've got to watch the blind

I said you've got to watch the blind

On the day of the [morning] festival

The bleakest afternoon of the season

All drones everywhere arise from mildewed states of unconsciousness

and go to celebrate their condition in the abandoned village greens

where the fairground is down

with its revolving towers of burning colored lights

and its roaring tin can music, its people and fumes

Drunks stagger everywhere

and paw each other in the half-light at the edge of the confusion



Out of the hive

We must be groovin'

We're out of the hive

We're out of the hive

We're out of the hive now

We might as well come and die

We're out of the hive

in the land of the black and white minstrels

Hallelujah!



Do you think they can see us? Oh, I do hope they can

They can do me a favor and bury you where you stand!