Oh my God!
Ice floe, no where to go,
ice floe, no where to go,
lost in the blinding whiteness of the tundra!
Check him out!
They call him the shrew,
arms in short, in with the claw!
I'm little Johnny Frostbite,
movin' around,
freezing you up,
freezing you down like an icicle, [bad word] in your tent in the pink light scissor bite.
Arctic death,
infinite night.
Call me tundra boy,
because I move like an arctic lizard,
when the blizzard strikes,
I disappear like a pipe dream.
All that's left is a gleam,
on a tent peg.
Boosh, Boosh,
stronger than a moose,
don't lock your door, or [bad word] through your rooftop.
Stop, look round, take your mind off the floor,
cos the Boosh is loose and we're a little bit raw!
Ice floe, no where to go,
ice floe, no where to go,
lost in the blinding whiteness of the tundra!