It could be the things I say, That I'm not Straight or Gay,
But I'm not the special way you expect me to be today

It might be the way I look, or that I drew all over your book,
But I'm not the particular way you expect me to be today

It may be that I don't care, but I don't usually stop and stare
Or scream abuse at passers-by, Or stick my finger in their eye,
Just because they're them not me, They're "not my favourite cup of tea"
Well, The Tabloid Species has run amok, but that's OK 'cos they're all fucked

Perhaps there's certain things I've done you'd secretly consider fun,
But then You wouldn't be the peculiar way you are when you wake up every day