[Verse 1] Another night, another bevvy, Another reason not to smile. The world's gone straight to hell, my dear, But you've been there a good long while. You make your living playing with mud, You call it sculpture, we call it dirt. You turn your trauma into pottery, Then flog it for all that it's worth. [Pre-Chorus] Vada the eek, it's looking bona, In a certain kind of light. A little slap, a zhoosh of riah, And you'll probably last the night. [Chorus] Fabulosa, darling dear, Another crack, no veneer! The world's a mess, the end is near, But look who's fucking still here! Raise a glass, embrace decay, Tell the young ones they're in your way. You're not quite dead, you're not quite clean, Still bona, you miserable queen! Still bona, you dolly old queen! Still bona, you confabulation queen! Still bona, you naff old queen! [Verse 2] You've got a kiln, you've got opinions, Both are running far too hot. You say you love humanity, But clearly you'd prefer them not. The glaze is crazed, the clay is shrinking, The firing's gone completely wrong. But that's just life, you shrug and tell us, Then vada somebody's thong. [Pre-Chorus] Oh, bona omi, what a scandal, All the trade has gone to seed. The new queens haven't got a clue, And you've got everything they need. [Chorus] (same as above) [Bridge — spoken, with theatrical disgust] They say the years bring wisdom. Well, that's a fucking lie. It mostly brings prescriptions And a lally gone awry. But when the Reaper comes to claim you, You'll look him up and down, Say, "Vada the state of that drag, dear. You look like a provincial clown." Then you'll make your own ceramic urn, And charge a fortune for the glaze. You'll call it Meditations on Mortality, And get a glowing review in Frieze. [Final Chorus — big, ridiculous, triumphant] Fabulosa, darling dear, Another crack, no veneer! The world's a mess, the end is near, And STILL you're fucking here! And STILL you're fucking here! So vada the eek, admire the scene, The campest bitch that's ever been! A little cracked, a little obscene, Our darling, dreadful, pottery queen! Fabulosa, darling dear, Another crack, no veneer! [Outro — slow, spoken] Bona nochy, Andrew. May your glazes never craze, May your trade remain bona, And may they never discover What you've buried in the kiln. You are a treasure, darling. And, unfortunately, nonrefundable.
