Inside every teenage girl there's a fountain

Inside every young pair of pants there's a mountain

Inside every mother's eyes is Tommy Tinkrem's bed

Inside every candidate waits a grateful dead



I make it a thing, when I'm on my own to relieve myself

I make it a thing, when I gazelle on stage to believe in myself

I make it a thing, to glance in window panes and look pleased with myself

Yeah, and pretend I'm walking home



I took it so bad, I sat in the correction room

Took me a fag, and a kick in the moon

Well, I ain't gonna suck no radar wing

Because inside this tin is tin

Would you like to techno-plate cause I'm your candidate

Oh yeah



It's a matter of life

And the way you walk, you've got a BrylCream queen

It's a matter of tact

In the things you talk, that keeps his passport clean

A matter of fact

That a cock ain't a cock on a twelve inch screen

So I'll pretend I'm walking home



You don't have to scream a lot to keep an age in tune

You don't have to scream a lot to predict monsoons

You don't have to paint my contact black

Now I've hustled a pair of jeans

Do I have to give your money back when I'm the Fuhrerling



I'll make you a deal

I'll say I came from from Earth and my tongue is taped

I'll make you a deal

You can get your kicks on the candidate

I'll make you a deal

For your future's sake, I'm the candidate

Let's pretend we're walking home



uh-huh, uh-huh

I'm the candidate

I'm the candidate

Vote now for the candidate