[Verse 1] Who in God’s name steals toilet brushes, from airport stalls in far-off lands? Wellington, Rio, Tokio, Hanoi, stuffed in suitcases with their bare hands. A customs officer stops you walking, points at the handle on your jeans. “Sir, it’s dripping - freshly used - and it’s tagged from Gate 17!” [Pre‑Chorus] You mumble something ’bout tradition, your face is red, your story weak. He shakes his head - he’s seen it all - the infamous toilet brush thief phantom. [Chorus] **Who steals toilet brushes? Tell me, who could want that prize? Hanging them like trophies on the wall for all to recognize. Who steals toilet brushes? Is there someone out there bold? Collecting dripping memories from every airport in the world?** [Instrumental break] [Verse 2] Some folks collect seashells, others antlers, some keep sand from foreign shores. But you - you’ve got a gallery of bathroom tools from restroom floors. Each brush labeled with a selfie, time and date and airport name. Visitors stare in disbelief - and you just smile without shame. [Chorus] **Who steals toilet brushes? Tell me, who could want that prize? Hanging them like trophies on the wall for all to recognize. Who steals toilet brushes? Is there someone out there bold? Collecting dripping memories from every airport in the world?** [instrumental solo] [Outro (spoken, jazzy ad‑lib)] Maybe I’m wrong… maybe there *is* a hero out there… traveling the globe… one dripping brush at a time, or more…
