Texty: Crimea (The). Kill All Hippies Live Set. White Russian Galaxy.

Straight out of high school and into the jungle
searching for Tarzan who might be dad.
You kick like a mule, short of an oscar
And screaming blue murder at newly weds.

Who knows what goes on in her pretty little head
Who knows what goes on in her pretty little head
Who knows
Who knows
Who knows
Who knows

You talk like a fish in nonsensical bubbles
then blow the word bitch through your smoke ring.
You cause only trouble, you bring only suffering,
just get in the spaceship and stop bleeding.

Who knows what goes on in her pretty little head
Who knows what goes on in her pretty little head
Who knows
Who knows
Who knows
Who knows

Won't you tell me why do you never sing in church on Sunday?
Why won't you ever go all the way?
You're floating towards heavenly hell, hanging from the rafters like a church bell.
You're light years away from reality, lonely, and lost in a White Russian Galaxy.

Who knows
Who knows
Who knows
What goes on in her pretty little head
Who knows
What goes on in her pretty little head
Who knows
What goes on in her pretty little head
Who knows
What goes on in her pretty little head

Who knows what goes on
Who knows what goes on
Who knows what goes on
Who knows what goes on in her pretty little head

Who knows what goes on
Who knows what goes on
Who knows what goes on
Who knows what goes on

Who knows what goes on
Who knows what goes on
Who knows what goes on
Who knows what goes on