Four Dark Judges sitting in lineDeath and Pestilence, Famine and WarChurning out clones like robots from the fiftiesOr is it 1984?P-p-p-pop-pop photocopierF-f-Filling our charts with p-paper pop starsLike the scary kids from Village of the DamnedPrepare for the Invasion of the Pop SnatchersSee the pop stars marching in lineMarching in line like clockwork clownsMarching in line like a load of robotsGoing “Click whiz bang”P-p-p-pop-pop photocopierReplacing all the proper pop-p-pop starsWith the robot children of the Stepford WivesPrepare for the Invasion of the Pop SnatchersVote! Vote!New facesVote! Vote!They’re stealing our soulsVote! Vote!Opportunity knocksVote! Vote!Nothing ever ch-ch-ch-changesP-p-p-pop-pop photocopierChurning out stars like the bloody clappersWith their ever so slightly spiky hairPrepare for the Invasion of the Pop SnatchersDon’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t write your own songDo another lame ballad by Elton JohnDon’t frown, don’t swear, don’t set your own paceDon’t punch a toilet attendant in the faceP-p-p-pop-pop photocopierF-f-Filling our charts with p-paper pop starsWith their ever so slightly spiky hairPrepare for the Invasion of the Pop Snatchers
Four Dark Judges sitting in lineDeath and Pestilence, Famine and WarChurning out clones like robots from the fiftiesOr is it 1984?P-p-p-pop-pop photocopierF-f-Filling our charts with p-paper pop starsLike the scary kids from Village of the DamnedPrepare for the Invasion of the Pop SnatchersSee the pop stars marching in lineMarching in line like clockwork clownsMarching in line like a load of robotsGoing “Click whiz bang”P-p-p-pop-pop photocopierReplacing all the proper pop-p-pop starsWith the robot children of the Stepford WivesPrepare for the Invasion of the Pop SnatchersVote! Vote!New facesVote! Vote!They’re stealing our soulsVote! Vote!Opportunity knocksVote! Vote!Nothing ever ch-ch-ch-changesP-p-p-pop-pop photocopierChurning out stars like the bloody clappersWith their ever so slightly spiky hairPrepare for the Invasion of the Pop SnatchersDon’t drink, don’t smokeDon’t write your own songDo another lame ballad by Elton JohnDon’t frown, don’t swearDon’t set your own paceDon’t punch a toilet attendant in the faceP-p-p-pop-pop photocopierF-f-Filling our charts with p-paper pop starsWith their ever so slightly spiky hairPrepare for the Invasion of the Pop Snatchers