I'd be really pleased to meet you if I could remember your name But I got problems of the memory ever since I got a winner in the fame game I'm a citizen of Legoland travellin' incommunicado And I don't give a damn for the Fleet Street afficionados But I don't want to be the backpage interview I don't want launderette anonymity I want my handprints in the concrete on Sunset Boulevard A dummy in Tussauds you'll see Incommunicado, incommunicado, incommunicado, incommunicado I'm a Marquee veteran, a multi-media bonafide celebrity I've got an allergy to Perrier, daylight and responsibility I'm a rootin-tootin cowboy, the Peter Pan, the street credibility Always taking the point with the dawn patrol fraternity Sometimes it seems like I've been here before when I hear opportunity kicking in my door Call it synchronicity call it Deja Vu I just put my faith in destiny -- it's the way that I choose But I don't want to be a tin can tied to the bumper of a wedding limousine Or currently residing in the where are they now file a toupet on the cabaret scene I want to do adverts for American Express cards talk shows on prime time TV A villa in France, my own cocktail bar and that's where you're gonna find me Incommunicado, incommunicado, incommunicado, incommunicado Sometimes it seems like I've been here before when I hear opportunity kicking in my door Call it synchronicity call it Deja Vu I just put my faith in destiny -- it's the way that I choose Incommunicado, incommunicado, incommunicado, incommunicado It's the only way Incommunicado, incommunicado, incommunicado, incommunicado
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce the next president of the United States, Mr Joe Wash !" "Yeah, yeah... appreciate your vote... and here is an industrial love song". I have a mansion but forget the price, Ain't never been there, they tell me its nice, I live in hotels, tear out the walls, I have accountants pay for it all...They say I'm crazy but I have a have a good time, I'm just looking for clues at the scene of the crime, Life's been good to me so far...My Maseratti does one-eighty-five, I lost my license, now I don't drive, I have a limo, ride in the back, I lock the doors in case I'm attacked... I'm making records, my fans they can't wait, They write me letters, tell me I'm great, So I got me an office, gold records on the wall, Just leave a message, maybe I'll call... Lucky I'm sane after all I've been through, I can't complain but sometimes I still do, Life's been good to me so far...I go to parties sometimes until four, It's hard to leave when you can't find the door, It's tough to handle this fortune and fame, Everybody's so different, I haven't changed... They say I'm lazy but it takes all my time, I keep on goin' guess I'll never know why, Life's been good to me so far...
Echoes of the Broadway Everglades, With her mythical madonnas still walking in their shades: Lenny Bruce, declares a truce and plays his other hand. Marshall McLuhan, casual viewin', head buried in the sand. Sirens on the rooftops wailing, but there's no ship sailing. Groucho, with his movies trailing, stands alone with his punchline failing. Klu Klux Klan serve hot soul food and the band plays 'In the Mood' The cheerleader waves her cyanide wand, there's a smell of Peach blossom and bitter almonde. Caryl Chessman sniffs the air and leads the parade, he know in a scent, You can bottle all you made. There's Howard Hughes in blue suede shoes, smiling at the majorettes smoking Winston cigarettes. And as the song and dance begins, the children play at home With needles; needles and pins.
Buddy Holly All my life I've been kissing your top lip coz the bottom ones missing oh boy that's what I always hear anyway:biggrin:
Song she sang to me, Song she brang to me, Words that rang in me Beautiful mangling of English by American Mr Diamond
Diamond's lyrics are shite. "I am, I said, to no one there, and no one heard at all, not even the chair" "River runs on down, nothin'll keep it from where its bound, new grown plums are blue, honey it's natural, I love you" "It's the song of the cars, on their furious flights, but there's even romance, in the way that they dance, to the beat of the lights" "The morning sun is shining, like a red rubber ball"
this is a great song, played at the wake of a friend of mine by his request. Unfortunately cannot find a recording of the full track online (Dave Edmunds Reader's wives) which is surprising as it's pretty tame by today's standards (possibly blocked by the artist). Well If you like your women short or tall You like your girlfriends big or small Just cruise on down to the corner stand Give your money to the man! A mugger carries a couple of knives All I wanna do is look at readers wives. There's big blonde Betty, really nifty She'll do a coach party for twelve dollars fifty. ********* look far and near For little Maria who'll do it for a beer. The old man watches and the young man jives All I wanna do is look at readers wives. Some girls look like their just plain gifted Others look like they're trained weightlifters Little one stands at four foot three While the big ones start at 44D. Quick, give me some coffee 'fore the police arrive I only came out to look at readers wives. So If you like your women short or tall You like your girlfriends big or small Just cruise on down to the corner stand Give your money to the man! A mugger carries a couple of knives All I wanna do is look at readers wives. The old man watches and the young man jives All I wanna do is look at readers wives.
Wanna tell you a story, about a woman I know... When it comes to loving, Mmmm she steals the show... Ain't exactly pretty, ain't exactly small... 42 39 56, you could say she's got it all ! (Angus ! Angus ! Angus !)
Ah yes, Whole lotta Rosie AC/DC. Classic! One of the first singles I ever bought. 12" vinyl ep if I remember correctly. Great days.... Smoking fags, drinking sherry from refill lemonade bottles, FS1E's.... shootin yer load after 6 strokes... And doing it again 5 minutes later..... Oh yes, great days indeed...
Stiff Little Fingers At The Edge Back when I was younger they were talking at me Never listened to a word I said Always yap, yap, yapping and complaining at me Made me think I'd be better off dead I don't want to talk about it I don't want to hear no lip Take your share, don't shout about it That's your lot, remember you're a kid They would always teach me that to swear was a sin Always speak your mind but not aloud Think of something that you want to do with your life Nothing that you like, that's not allowed I've no time to talk about it All your stupid hopes and dreams Get your feet back on the ground, son It's exams that count not football teams And I'm running at the edge of their world They're criticising something they just can't understand Living on the edge of their town And I won't be shot down Taught me to defend myself and to be a man How to kick someone and run away Gave me everything that any young man could need But don't understand why I won't stay Here's your room and here's your records Here's your home and here you'll stay Here's somewhere I don't believe in Wish someone would take it all away And I'm running at the edge of their world They're criticising something they just can't understand Living on the edge of their town And I won't be shot down
Warren Zevon - Excitable Boy Well, he went down to dinner in his Sunday best Excitable boy, they all said And he rubbed the pot roast all over his chest Excitable boy, they all said Well, he's just an excitable boy He took in the four a.m. show at the Clark Excitable boy, they all said And he bit the usherette's leg in the dark Excitable boy, they all said Well, he's just an excitable boy He took little Suzie to the Junior Prom Excitable boy, they all said And he raped her and killed her, then he took her home Excitable boy, they all said Well, he's just an excitable boy After ten long years they let him out of the home Excitable boy, they all said And he dug up her grave and built a cage with her bones Excitable boy, they all said Well, he's just an excitable boy
AND THE BAND PLAYED WALTZING MATILDA And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda Cords When I was a young man I carried my pack And I lived the free life of a rover From the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback I waltzed my Matilda all over Then in nineteen fifteen my country said Son It's time to stop rambling 'cause there's work to be done So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun And they sent me away to the war And the band played Waltzing Matilda As we sailed away from the quay And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the cheers We sailed off to Gallipoli How well I remember that terrible day How the blood stained the sand and the water And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter Johnny Turk he was ready, he primed himself well He chased us with bullets, he rained us with shells And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell Nearly blew us right back to Australia But the band played Waltzing Matilda As we stopped to bury our slain We buried ours and the Turks buried theirs Then we started all over again Now those that were left, well we tried to survive In a mad world of blood, death and fire And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive But around me the corpses piled higher Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over tit And when I woke up in my hospital bed And saw what it had done, I wished I was dead Never knew there were worse things than dying For no more I'll go waltzing Matilda All around the green bush far and near For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs two legs No more waltzing Matilda for me So they collected the cripples, the wounded, the maimed And they shipped us back home to Australia The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay I looked at the place where my legs used to be And thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me To grieve and to mourn and to pity And the band played Waltzing Matilda As they carried us down the gangway But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared Then turned all their faces away And now every April I sit on my porch And I watch the parade pass before me And I watch my old comrades, how proudly they march Reliving old dreams of past glory And the old men march slowly, all bent, stiff and sore The forgotten heroes from a forgotten war And the young people ask, "What are they marching for?" And I ask myself the same question And the band plays Waltzing Matilda And the old men answer to the call But year after year their numbers get fewer Some day no one will march there at all Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda Who'll come a waltzing Matilda with me And their ghosts may be heard as you pass the Billabong Who'll come-a-waltzing Matilda with me?
There was a thick set man with frog eyes Who was standing at the door And a little bald man with wing-nut ears Was waiting in the car Well, Robert Moore passed the frog-eyed man As he walked into the bar And Betty Coltrane she jumped under her table "What's your pleasure?" asked the barman He had a face like boiled meat "There's a girl called Betty Coltrane That I have come to see" "But I ain't seen that girl 'round here For more than a week" And Betty Coltrane she had hid beneath the table Well, then in came a sailor with Mermaids tattooed on his arms Followed by the man with the wing-nut ears Who was waitin' in the car Well, Robert Moore sensed trouble He'd seen it comin' from afar And Betty Coltrain she gasped beneath the table Well, the sailor said, "I'm looking for my wife They call her Betty Coltrain" The frog-eyed man said, "That can't be That's my wife's maiden name" And the man with the wing-nut ears said "Hey, I married her back in Spain" And Betty Coltrain crossed herself beneath the table Well, Robert Moore stepped up and said "That woman is my wife" And he drew a silver pistol And a wicked bowie knife And he shot the man with the wing-nut ears Straight between the eyes And Betty Coltrain, she moaned under the table Well, the frog-eyed man jumped at Robert Moore Who stabbed him in the chest And as Mister Frog-eyes died he said "Betty, you're the girl that I loved best" Then the sailor pulled a razor Robert blasted it to bits "And Betty, I know you're under the table" "Well, have no fear," said Robert Moore "I do not want to hurt you" "Never a woman did I love me Half as much as you "You're the blessed sun, the meek girl And you are the sacred moon" And Betty shot his legs out from under the table Well, Robert Moore went down heavy With a crash upon the floor And over to his trashin' body Betty Coltrain she did crawl She put the gun to the back of his head And pulled the trigger once more And blew his brains out all over the table Well, Betty stood up and shook her head And waved the smoke away Said, "I'm sorry Mr. Barman To leave your place this way" As she emptied out their wallets she said "I'll collect my severance pay" Then she winked and threw a dollar on the table
Armalite, street lights, nightsights... Searching the roofs for a sniper, a viper, a fighter... Death in the shadows he'll maim you, he'll wound you, he'll kill you... For a long forgotten cause, on not so foreign shores, Boys baptised in wars... Morphine, chill scream, bad dream... Serving as numbers on dogtags, flakrags, sandbags... Your girl has married your best friend, loves end, poison pen... Your flesh will always creep, tossing turning sleep... The wounds that burn so deep... Your mother sits on the edge of the world, When the cameras start to roll... Panoramic viewpoint resurrects the killing fold... Your father drains another beer, he's one of the few that cares... Crawling behind a Saracen's hull from the safety of his living room chair... Forgotten sons, forgotten sons, forgotten sons... And so as I patrol in the valley of the shadow of the tricolour, I must fear evil, for I am but mortal and mortals can only die... Asking questions, pleading answers from the nameless faceless watchers, That stalk the carpeted corridors of Whitehall... Who orders desecration, mutilation, verbal masturbation ? In the guarded bureaucratic wombs... Minister, minister care for your children, order them not into damnation... To eliminate those who would trespass against you... For whose is the kingdom, the power, the glory forever and ever, Amen... "Halt who goes there?" ... "Death" ... "Approach, friend"... You're just another coffin on its way down the emerald aisle... When your children's stony glances mourn your death in a terrorist's smile... The bomber's arm placing fiery gifts on the supermarket shelves... Alley sings as shrapnel detonates a temporary hell... Forgotten Sons... From the dole queue to the regiment a profession in a flash... But remember Monday signings when from door to door you dash... On the news a nation mourns you, unknown soldier, count the cost... For a second you'll be famous, forever posthumous... Forgotten sons, forgotten sons... Peace on earth and mercy mild, Mother Brown has lost her child... Just another - Forgotten Son...
We got close to this, but we haven't yet had it, and we should have: Beasley St. - John Cooper Clarke. Far from crazy pavements - the taste of silver spoons A clinical arrangement on a dirty afternoon Where the fecal germs of Mr Freud are rendered obsolete The legal term is null and void In the case of Beasley Street In the cheap seats where murder breeds Somebody is out of breath Sleep is a luxury they don't need - a sneak preview of death Belladonna is your flower Manslaughter your meat Spend a year in a couple of hours On the edge of Beasley Street Where the action isn't That's where it is State your position Vacancies exist In an X-certificate exercise Ex-servicemen excrete Keith Joseph smiles and a baby dies In a box on Beasley Street From the boarding houses and the bedsits Full of accidents and fleas Somebody gets it Where the missing persons freeze Wearing dead men's overcoats You can't see their feet A riff joint shuts - opens up Right down on Beasley Street Cars collide, colours clash disaster movie stuff For a man with a Fu Manchu moustache Revenge is not enough There's a dead canary on a swivel seat There's a rainbow in the road Meanwhile on Beasley Street Silence is the code Hot beneath the collar an inspector calls Where the perishing stink of squalor impregnates the walls the rats have all got rickets they spit through broken teeth The name of the game is not cricket Caught out on Beasley Street The hipster and his hired hat Drive a borrowed car Yellow socks and a pink cravat Nothing La-di-dah OAP, mother to be Watch the three-piece suite When shit-stoppered drains and crocodile skis are seen on Beasley Street The kingdom of the blind a one-eyed man is king Beauty problems are redefined the doorbells do not ring A lightbulb bursts like a blister the only form of heat here a fellow sells his sister down the river on Beasley Street The boys are on the wagon The girls are on the shelf Their common problem is that they're not someone else The dirt blows out The dust blows in You can't keep it neat It's a fully furnished dustbin, Sixteen Beasley Street Vince the ageing savage Betrays no kind of life but the smell of yesterday's cabbage and the ghost of last year's wife through a constant haze of deodorant sprays he says retreat Alsations dog the dirty days down the middle of Beasley Street People turn to poison Quick as lager turns to piss Sweethearts are physically sick every time they kiss. It's a sociologist's paradise each day repeats On easy, cheesy, greasy, queasy beastly Beasley Street Eyes dead as vicious fish Look around for laughs If I could have just one wish I would be a photograph on a permanent Monday morning Get lost or fall asleep When the yellow cats are yawning Around the back of Beasley Street
Aaagha do do do do.......da da da to the left to the right..... etc, etc. Brings a tear to me eye.....
