Robyn Hitchcock Brenda's Iron Sledge
We head downhill, my hands fly back Our fingers freeze, our hair falls out, our hair falls out Our fingers freeze, our hair falls out The iron piston pumps and spouts The steaming air as hot as sprouts All aboard, Brenda's iron sledge No one's on top, they're comfortable They're sitting on a human chain, a human chain They're sitting on a human chain Their limbs compressed in icy slush Of freezing in a raw meat groove All aboard, Brenda's iron sledge Please don't call me Reg, it's not my name The body's rear, a bucking sled Which hits a tree and falls asleep, and falls asleep Which hits a tree and that is that The grasshoppers curl up and burst And Brenda shovels on the wurst All aboard, Brenda's iron sledge Please don't call me Reg, it's not my name
