Beatles, The - Happiness Is A Warm Gun Lyrics

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She’s not a girl who misses much. Do do do do do do do do She’s well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand Like a lizard on a window pane. The man in the crowd with the multicolored mirrors On his hobnail boots Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy Working overtime A soap impression of his wife which he ate And donated to the National Trust. I need a fix ‘cause I’m going down. Down to the bits that I left uptown. I need a fix ‘cause I’m going down. Mother Superior jump the gun Mother Superior jump the gun Mother Superior jump the gun Mother Superior jump the gun. Happiness is a warm gun Happiness is a warm gun When I hold you in my arms And I feel my finger on your trigger I know no one can do me no harm Because happiness is a warm gun. Yes it is.

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