You’re an urban girl on an urban road
Traffic’s good, the weather is fine,
A red light brings a pause to your journey.
He is standing by, like a poison toad,
Must be something bent in his mind
Yes there’s his squeegee brush,
And there’s his packet of Winnies.

You see his crusty frown
Don’t wind your window down
There are voices in your head: “don’t do it!”
Voices filled with dread: “don’t do it!”
Too many women learned the score:
Whatever you do,

Don’t pay the feral man
Don’t let him touch that glass
Don’t pay the feral man
He’s an evil-smelling pain in the arse.

With a squeegee brush that he never bought,
A water bucket turning black,
Beware that rock he’s saving for your duco.
And then he meets your eye and he lurches forth,
You shake your head and turn away
He waves his brush and leers
At your chest through the window

And then the feral man said,
“I just wanna buy bread.”
But you can smell him though – don’t do it.
You must tell him no – don’t do it.
And still this voice comes from inside,
“Whatever you do

Don’t pay the feral man
Don’t let him touch that glass
Don’t pay the feral man
He’s an evil-smelling pain in the arse.

Don’t pay the feral man!”