Lyrics:

Stanshall

I am the Big Shot.
You heard me right the first time, name of bachelor, Johnny Cool.
Occupation: big shot. Occupation at the moment: just having fun.
What a party that was, the drinks were loaded and so were the dolls.
I narrowed my eyes and poured a stiff Manhattan, then I saw... Hotsy.
What a dame, a big bountiful babe, in the region of 48-23-38. One hell of a region.
She had the hottest lips since Hiroshima, I had to stand back for fear of being burned.
'Whisky-wow-wow', I breathed; she was dressed as Biffo the Bear.
In that kind of outfit, she could get rolled at night...
And I don't mean on a crap table.

'It's kind of revealing, isn't it?'
'Revealing? It's positively risqué, I like it.'
She said, 'You're the man of a thousand G's, right?'
'A thousand what?', I quipped,
'Why, G-man, girls, guns, guts... You're my type'
'Wrong, baby!', I slapped her hard, 'I'm an L-man. Strictly liquor, love and laughs'
She stared over my shoulder. 'Play it cool, Johnny.'
'Play it what?', I flipped. 'Listen, I fought my way up from tough East-Side New York. Lead-filled socks and sub-machine guns. Like this!'

She said, 'Johnny this is a deadly game, have a few laughs and go home.'
I shuddered. Normally I pack a rod in pyjamas; I carry nothing but scars from Normandy Beach.
I said, 'Wrong, baby, you can't fool me.'
She spat playfully. 'I'm ahead of you, Johnny.'
I studied the swell of her enormous boobs and said,
'Baby, you're so far ahead it's beautiful!'

'You, you are, you're eccentric, I like that.'
'Electric, Cherie, bug off my rocket, tu comprends?' We spoke French fluently.
Our lips met again and again, 'Yeah yeah yeah,' I slobbered.
Hotsy said, 'You're slobbering all over the seat, kid.'
I went home, late. Very late.
What could I say to my wife? 'Darling, I've been beaten up again'?
Let's face it, she's credulous as hell.
A punk stopped me on the street. He said, 'You got a light, mac?'
I said, 'No, but I've got a dark brown overcoat.'