Outside my window there's a. Whole lot of trouble comin'. The cartoon killers and the. Rag cover clones. Stack heals kickin' rhythm. Of social circumcision. Can't close the closet on a. Shoe box full of bones. Kangaroo lady with her bourbon in a pouch. Can't afford the rental on a bamboo couch. Collecting back her favors 'cause her well is running dry. I know her act is terminal. But she ain't gonna die. Slim Intoxicado drinkin' dime store hooch. Is always in a circle with his part-time pooch. Little creepy's playing dollies on the New York rain. Thinkin' Bowie's just a knife. Ooh the pain. I ain't seen the sun since I don't know when. The freaks come out at nine. And it's twenty to ten. What's this funk. That you ucall junk. To me it's just monkey business. Blind man in the box that will probably die. The village kids laugh as they waalk by. A psycho is on the edge of this human garbage dump. And the vultures in the sewers are telling. Him to jump. Into the fire from the frying pan. Tripping on his tongue. For a cool place to stand. Where's this shaade. That you've got it made. To me it's just monkey business. CHORUS. Monkey business. Slippin' on the track. Monkey business. Jungle in black. Ain't your business if I got. No monkey on my back. CHORUS. The Vaseline gypsies and the silicone souls. Dressed to the society. Hypocrite heartbeat and cheap alibis. Can't get you by that monkey. CHORUS.