Nick the Stripper, Hideous to the eye, Hideous to the eye, He's a fat little insect, A fat little insect, And oooooooh! Here we go again. - Nick Cave

Put ya shoulder to the handle, if ya dare, and hoist that bucket hither,
Crank'n'hoist'n'hoist'n'crank, till ya muscles waste'n'wither.

In heaven His throne is made of gold,
Where the ark of His testament is stowed,
A throne from which I'm told all history does unfold,
Down here it's made of wood and wire,
And my body is on fire,
And God is never far away.

O ah hear her walkin',
Walkin' barefoot 'cross the floor-boards,
All thru this lonesome night,
And ah hear her crying too.
Hot-tears come splashin' down,
Leaking thru the cracks,
Down upon my face, ah catch'em in my mouth!