Ours are the parties of Venus
Ours are the parties of Art
Here's our inflatable penis
Here's our tempestuous fart
Smell how our hooters are honking
Hear our exuberant sex
We promise electoral bonking
And canvases blank as new cheques
Each speech will be pure penetration
And hotter than fresh chilli sauce
They'll rise to the special occasion
(All spoken by actors, of course)
We give you Apocalypse Next Week
We offer a limitless sky
And for those with a wild, highly sexed streak
We'll give you a poke in the eye
