text: Chinese masseuse, comes between us
  Talks in haikus, plastic venus
  Got a headrush, in her pocket
  Two rubbers two lubes, and a silver rocket
  Hang on, hang on to your IQ, to your ID
  Hang on, hang on to your IQ, to your ID
  Im lonely
  Im lonely
  Every morning, my eyes will open wide
  I gotta get high, before I go outside
  Roll another, for breakfast
  Burning clouds around, and in my solar plexus
  Hang on, hang on to your IQ, to your ID
  Hang on, hang on to your IQ, to your ID
  Im lonely
  Im lonely
  Legs eleven, makes me stay up late
  Two fat ladies on my back, and now its 88
  Im a fool, whose tool is small
  Its so miniscule, its no tool at all
  Hang on, hang on to your IQ, to your ID
  Hang on, hang on to your IQ, to your ID
  Im lonely
  Im lonely