You don't look like a hero   Of the Soviet Union to me   You look more like a fish   Come walking down the street   And you can tell that everybody agrees   You oughtta be on a dish   You've got your mind made up   Like you've got your head in a bush   And to move it around   Just hurts too much      And it's no good saying you're in love With the modern world   When those streets are all filled   With those impossible   Red-haired girls      You don't look like the spokesman   For a generation to me   I've got a postage stamp here   For what you know of Philosophy.   You're like Thomas Hobbes:   Nasty, brutish and short      He's drawing back the curtain   It's a brand new day   There's rubble on the carpet   Cause his friends came to stay   I'm over on the carpet   10 years on other peoples' floors   And you learn a little something   You learn a little something   That you can't ignore      And it's no good telling me   You're still in love   With the modern world   When those streets are all filled   With those impossible red-haired   Impossible red, red, red-haired girls      Whip on, Jim.      You betcha'      Watch that spaceman drive that car   Where he's going ain't too far      And Rebecca wants her bike back      Here it comes