He's not the type of guy that you'd recognise
There's nothing to suggest that he's a prize winner
His only claim to fame is a plaque above his bed says
He's a good boy
He's not the sort of man you could easily like
You can't exactly say that he's a nice guy

His only one delight is to see her late at night
Before the curtains are drawn
OOh heavy breathing he's out of control
OOh heavy breathing he'd sell you his soul
You'll find him in the waiting room just wasting time
Fumbling in his pockets for some loose change

His shoes are even older than the chip upon his shoulder
You'll find him easily bribed
He really feels that detante is a dirty word
He'd gladly throw a spanner in the skoda
You've got to catch this guy before he reaches

Chou-en-lai
That's him succinctly described
OOh heavy breathing he's out of control
OOh heavy breathing he'd sell you his soul