They're listening on some idiotic wind
They're listening just in case I might have sinned
They can hear me in Manhattan
And the Bowery down on Staten
They're listening on the backstreets of Berlin
They're listening on some infernal wave
To my whispering in the bowels of Fingles Cave
They can even hear me stutter in chaos of Calcutta
And hear the tom-toms in the home of the brave
Oh the thought police
How I love the thought police
I'm trying hard to please the thought police
Oh the thought police they've got me on my knees
I'm trying to appease the thought police
They hear me in the dark of Rajistan
In the Moulen Rouge where they can Can-the-can
And they say I'm just a red sleeping underneath my bed
But, don't you know I'm not their man
And they chase me out here to The Bronx
In the blues café's and in the honky-tonks
They're listening in with patience to all my little conversations
And I'm just a prisoner here in Sing Sing singing songs
Oh the thought police
How I love the thought police
I'm trying hard to please the thought police
And they eavesdrop in the bars of Japan
And to all of the cats in old Siam
They'll even run some traces on the Geisha's painted faces
And I know that they know just who I am
Oh the thought police
How I love the thought police