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the penis song - momus lyrics

buckminster fuller, inventor of the geodesic dome
once gave a lecture he ent-tled ‘everything i know’
taking the t-tle literally, he spoke four years or so
and i intend to do the same, so make yourself at home
(pull up a chair, smoke a cigar or something)
cynthia plaster caster once took my cast and showed me
in a p-n-s exhibition in a gallery on broadway
so many people saw my p-n-s in its gl-ss case
they recognise my p-n-s now before my face

the subject for today: does knowledge elevate or demean us?
everything you didn’t want to know about my p-n-s

a baker has a p-n-s thing for flattening the dough
but stick it in the oven and it rises up, like so
the man who chops the melons up with a long and pointed knife
has a p-n-s with a mottled skin, i know, i asked his wife
(very curious)
a priest beneath his c-ssock has a p-n-s just the same
some call the hypothalamus the p-n-s of the brain
one man’s sport is fly fishing, and the other’s, pocket billiards
congratulations, watson, on your almost-freudian brilliance

the comedian from h-ll always thinks he can entertain us
with everything we didn’t want to know about his p-n-s

like the heather of the highlands, mine is tipped with flecks of purple
with a head as wise as solomon, although shaped like a turtle
it wears a flesh-tone roll-neck and the neck goes up and down
it comes out in the evenings and on friday paints the town
obsessively, compulsively, it only wants one thing
to fill your chosen orifice with ropes of pearly string
delivering its message to your womb or to your tongue
and then going slack and flaccid when its pressing work is done

in witty conversation, by drip or intravenus
i drop everything you didn’t want to know about my p-n-s
(some sort of tourettes syndrome)

it’s a very fine philosopher, debating right and wrong
shows promise as a songwriter (it writes most of my songs)
don’t bury it in boxer shorts but wear it like a tie
or avant garde jewellery hanging from your fly
(very chic!)
jean luc godard once declared, to gales of mystified laughter
that some men wash their hands before they touch it, others after
and if you slot it carefully where the sun will never shine
you’ll feel what’s mine becoming yours, what’s yours becoming mine

well ladies and hermaphrodites, my tender-hearted readers
everything you didn’t want to know about my p-n-s

there was a bohemian monk
who went to bed in a bunk
he dreamt that venus
was stroking his p-n-s
and woke up all covered in…

thought for the day: does abstinence dirty us or clean us?
everything you didn’t want to know about my p-n-s

it’s a tribute to the power of something otherwise mundane
that waving it under a stranger’s nose is said to scar his brain
i’m doing my bit to see the power of taboo remains intact:
i keep a p-n-s on my head but never lift my hat
(i keep a p-n-s on my head but never lift my hat)

and if i’ve bored you stiff with this riff about my p-n-s
i wouldn’t let a little thing like that come between us

and if you can think of another song even more atrocious
well supercalifragilisiticexpif-ckingdocious

- momus lyrics

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