Two swans in front of his eyes
Colored balls in front of his eyes
It’s number one for his kelly’s eye
Treble-six right over his eye



A big shot’s voice in his ears
Worlds of silence in his ears
All the numbers account for years
Checks the cards through eyes of tears



Bingo-master’s breakout!



All he sees is the back of chairs
In the mirror, a lack of hairs
A light room, which he fills out
Hear the players all shout



Bingo-master’s breakout!



A glass of lager in his hand
Silver microphone in his hand
Wasting time in numbers and rhyme
One hundred blank faces buy



Bingo-master’s breakout!



Came the time he flipped his lid
Came the time he flipped his lid
Holiday in spain fell through
Players put it down to



Bingo-master’s breakout



A hall full of cards left unfilled
Ended his life with wine and pills
There’s a grave somewhere only partly filled
A sign in a graveyard on a hill reads



Bingo-master’s breakout