He's a Karaoke Baby
He's a Karaoke Hustler
I'll meet the boy on 4,
and then the train rolls on
I need some refreshment,
somewhere to kill the beat
I can't remember the town,
someone's coming down
Daz walks to the bar to get the beer,
I look around and think,
what am I doing here?
He's a karaoke baby,
he's my karaoke hustler
It's this excluding pub,
or the league of bad hairstyles
Or drinking pissed down beer,
summer evening and the night is warm
I said I'm ready to go
Dad's voice says no
Karaoke catalogue
On the table so we give it a flick
He's a karaoke baby
He's my karaoke husband
Everybody's filling their forms
For the empty orchestra
And then he walks in the door
He spins his way across the floor
He's got the white mint toe
Drinking alcohol
The white arse from New York, New York
Of Christy Burke's Lady in Red
He's a carry -over baby
He's my carry -over baby
He's a carry -over baby
He's a carry -over
He's a slave to every week -end work,
a copycat king to meet and drink,
it's a job of work.
And starts to fidget when
someone else sings.
Says, here, give the mic to me,
I'll do it properly.
It goes to New York, New York,
and Christopher, Lady of Red. .