In your Vauxhall Viva you drive around,
Looking at the children in the playground.
Their smiling faces and their golden locks.
Looking at the girls in their ankle socks.

On summer days you prowl the streets,
Handing out sweeties and chocolate treats.
The children smile and the children laugh.
Inviting them back to take photographs.

When you get them home, they start to cry, asking you the reason why.
You make them suffer, make them weep, make them cry themselves to sleep.
You're a pervert, you're a pervert, and you don't know why..

There's a video nasty on the T.V. screen,
So bloody and violent and so obscene.
You act out your fantasies and make them scream.
You've satisfied all your wildest dreams.

Your parents kept you in a sheltered world.
Hidden from people especially girls.
Your strict upbringing, was oh! so fine.
Now for some reason you have a twisted mind.

When you get to prison, you start to cry, asking everyone the reason why.
They make you suffer, make you weep, make you cry yourself to sleep.
You're a pervert, you're a pervert, and you don't know why.

Psychologists investigate your hidden past.
Try to make excuses for your evil acts.
No one knows the reason why you're so insane.
The secret stays locked away inside your brain.

When you hang yourself, they start to cry, asking authorities the reason why.
Everyone suffers, everyone weeps, everyone cries themselves to sleep.
You're a pervert, you're a pervert, and no one knows why.

© Edward ian Armchair 2002