Aching to pupate, aching to pupate
Aching to pupate, aching to pupate
Aching to pupate, aching to pupate
Aching to pupate, aching to pupate
Pu-pupate, pu pate, pu-pate, pu-pupate, pu pate

I should peddle butterflies
There's a shortage in the city
I'll stand on the street corner
All myserious and giddy
When the passers by pass by
I will open up my trenchcoat
They will see the butterflies
Dangling like fake rolexes

Every morning I wake up
With a purpose and a smirk
I'll put on my fake moustache
I'll drink Heineken, eat cornflakes

Then I'll call my mum and dad
Tell them that I'm doing fine
Or I'll write a tipsy letter
To a real good friend of mine
Or I'll jump upon the bed
Waltzing madly with the broomstick
But before I leave the house
I will paint my lips with lipstick

But peddling is a dirty sport
There's competition in the city
Everyone is on a street corner
All mysterious and giddy
Some are selling bags and shoes
Some are selling books and gold
I've been standing here for days
Not one butterfly's been sold

And how I'm
Aching to pupate, aching to pupate
Aching to pupate, aching to pupate
Aching to pupate, aching to pupate
Aching to pupate, aching to pupate
Pu-pupate, pu pate, pu-pate, pu-pupate, pu pate