I used to be a minister of state but I got bored
I couldn’t stand to see the Queen touch people with her sword
I drifted into Whitechapel, in warehouses I snored,
And when the day was stashed away, across the tiles I soared.

I live on stolen grapefruit and the pigeons of the square
I keep their feathers for my wings in case my own should tear
It’s hard to find a man at night when he’s not even there
So why not zip across the town and cut your sister’s hair(s)

There’s a man in the air, there’s a man in the air
When they say he’s to visit, they wonder who is it
Tonight he’ll be dining with you
(don’t forget to bring a fork, baby)

Ah, shabby Geoff the watchman with a marble in his eye
Let it fall on dustbins where the alcoholics dry
His earmuffs are too thick for him to hear me passing by
But I hope that no astronomer is studying the sky

(guitar break)

Ah, fancy seeing you here in your little winter cloak
I think I ought to warn you an incision’s not a poke
I take away the bits I like and leave the rest to soak
But you’ll have to be my autograph before you see the joke
(oh, the joke sees you, baby)

There’s a man in the air etc

The Lord(s) daren’t interfere with me, he leaves it all to chance
I operate on Saturdays, and in the week I dance
I don’t mind giving lessons if you’ll pay me in advance
But you must go on Friday night and leave me to romance
(and dream about it, baby)

There’s a man in the air etc