Inside every teenage girl, there's a fountain Inside every young pair of pants, there's a mountain Inside every mother's eyes is Tommy Tinkrem's bed Inside every candidate waits a grateful dead I make it a thing When I'm on my own to relieve myself I make it a thing When I gazelle on stage to believe in myself I make it a thing To glance in window panes and look pleased with myself Yeah, and pretend I'm walking home I took it so bad, I sat in the correction room Took me a fag and a kick in the moon Well, I ain't gonna suck no radar wing 'cause inside this tin is tin Would you like to techno-plate? 'Cause I'm your candidate, oh, yeah It's a matter of life And the way you walk, you've got a BrylCream queen It's a matter of tact In the things you talk that keeps his passport clean A matter of fact That a cock ain't a cock on a twelve-inch screen So I'll pretend I'm walking home You don't have to scream a lot to keep an age in tune You don't have to scream a lot to predict monsoons You don't have to paint my contact black, now I've hustled a pair of jeans Do I have to give your money back when I'm the Fuhrerling? I'll make you a deal I'll say I came from Earth and my tongue is taped I'll make you a deal You can get your kicks on the candidate I'll make you a deal For your future's sake, I'm the candidate Let's pretend we're walking home Uh, uh, uh Uh, uh, uh I'm the candidate Make way for the candidate Vote now for the candidate