[Instrumental]
[Instrumental]
[Instrumental]
The tiny ant leaves his tiny ant drops in the sand,
And makes his home inside a rusty watering can,
Occasionally going out to look for bread and jam.
He runs into a sparrow who hasn't eaten for a week,
And later, quite contented, the sparrow cleans his beak,
Failing to notice pussy cat has come out to take a leak.
Our cat partakes of dinner when a sodden kangaroo
Emerges from the undergrowth and asks to use the loo.
Kangaroos aren't usually dangerous, for that would never do.
My goodness, will you look at all the animals queuing on the stairs!
Look at the animals in the zoo; how would you like to be one?
They're waiting to use the lavatory and putting chewing gum in each
other's hair.
Look at the animals, look at you; well how would you like to free one?
Good gracious, will you look at all the animals playing with their tools!
Look at the animals, look at you; well how would you like to queer one?
Flying from the chandeliers and treading in their elephantine stools.
Look at the animals, two by two; aren't you glad to be one?
This kangaroo's a lunatic and his pouch is very full
Of pussy cats and penguins who can't fly as a rule,
But then neither could the pussy cat: he never went to school.
The kangaroo gets nervous when confronted by the size
Of an elephant named Simon who is always telling lies;
He swears he wears green corduroys and can button up his fly.
Presently, a fatter Simon's indigestion fails.
He regurgitates the whole damn mess into an aluminum pail,
And the tiny ant scuttles back inside his watering can
Occasionally going out to look for bread and jam.
The tiger flashes sharpened teeth. Bowler-hatted; summer briefs Beneath his pinstriped skin. To kill demands a business sense; Economy moves non-residence Approaching from down-wind. Being a tiger means you laugh Whenever lesser tigers have To eat meat that's infected. Being a tiger means your mate When overfed will defecate In places least expected. Knowing a tiger means you must Accept his promise of mutual trust And offer him your throat. Loving a tiger means you take Second place to the cake you bake And with undying servile obedience keep the stiffly starched collar of his conference shirt spotless and remove daily the daubed bloody evidence of his dastardly misdeeds from the otherwise immaculate elegance of his pinstripe tiger coat. Period.
``Hello. This is `Law of the Bungle Part II'. By the way, I'm Martin Barre; but sometimes I'm an owl, and my feathers are really smooth, and when I feel romantic I like to dress up in men's clothing.'' [Instrumental]
The master playwright Urges you to play right/play wrong; Life is long and every night's the first night. The wardrobe mistress Urges you to dress left/dress right; What a mess when your underpants are too tight. Who's on the stage door To help you find the way in/way out? It's not a sin to be knowing that you don't know. When you breathe your last line Will you make your exit stage left/stage right? Well, you might decide while there's still time. You have an angel on your shoulder But you wear the old god's horns. And you dance around the maypole While the vicar makes a toast To the pagan celebration And extends an invitation to us all So he can save us when we fall. Who's your leading lady? Will you help to get her off the bus? It's best to pass the test before you get too lazy. Strike up the orchestra. Take your cues on the up-beat/Beat down Anyone who says he doesn't like the sound.
Brain-storming, habit-forming, battle-warning weary winsome actor spewing
spineless chilling lines--
The critics falling over to tell themselves he's boring
And really not an awful lot of fun.
Well who the hell can he be when he's never had V.D.,
And he doesn't even sit on toilet seats?
Court-jesting, never-resting--he must be very cunning
To assume an air of dignity
And bless us all
With his oratory prowess,
His lame-brained antics and his jumping in the air.
And every night his act's the same
And so it must be all a game of chess he's playing--
But you're wrong, Steve. You see, it's only solitaire.
Critic of the black and white It's your first night. The Passion Play gets in the way, Spoils your insight. Tell me how the baby's made, How the lady's laid, Why the old dogs howl with sadness. The blue thing in the ball leaves naught but a bloody footprint on the memory of last summer's trip to Europe Did you buy a passport from the queen? And your little sister's immaculate virginity wings away on the bony shoulder of a young horse named George who stole surreptitiously into her geography revision. The examining body examined her body.
One two three Two The editor lies screaming (begging in his working drink), Questioning ``Who is God's favorite rock star this week?'' And will the front page pay [take?] him? The deadline for the headline is the breadline.
In long years of ancient time, stood alone a friend of mine. Reflected by the ever-burning sigh of a god who happened by. And in the dawn, there came the song Of some sweet lady singing in his ear. Your god has gone, and from now on, You'll have to learn to hate the things you fear. We want to know, are we inside the womb? Of passion plays, in thy righteousness consumed? Or just in lush contentment of our souls? And so began the age of man, And they left his body in the sand. Their glasses raised to a god on high, Who smiled upon them from the sky. So take the stage. Spin down the ages. Loose the passion. Spill the rage upon your son Who holds the gun up to your head. The play's begun. Then God, the director, smells a rat. Pulls another rabbit from His hat. Sniffs the air and He says ``Well, that's that--I'm going.''
The actors milling helplessly-- The script is blowing out to sea. But what the hell, we didn't even pass an audition. The lines you'll have to improvise. The words are written in the eyes Of politicians who despise their fathers. And so the play necessitates That all you boys participate In fierce competition to eliminate each other. And groupies, on their way to war, Get to write the next film score, But the rock and roll star knows his glory is really nothing. Men of religion, on the make, Pledge an oath they undertake To make you wise for God's own sake, and none other. While ladies get their bedding done To win themselves a bouncing son-- But bad girls do it for the fun of just being. And me, I'm here to sing along, And I'm not concerned with righting wrongs, Just asking questions that belong without an answer. But God is laughing up his sleeve As He pours himself another cup of tea, And He waves good-bye to you and me, at least for now.
Did you learn your lines today? Well, there is no rehearsal. The tickets have all been sold For tomorrow's matinee. There's a telegram from the writer, But there is no rehearsal. The electrician has been told To make the spotlights brighter. There is one seat in the circle-- Five hundred million in the stalls. Simply everyone will be there, But the safety curtain falls When the bomb that's in the dressing room Blows the windows from their frames. And the prompter in his corner is sorry that he came. There is one seat in the circle-- Five hundred million in the stalls. Simply everyone will be there But the safety curtain falls When the bomb that's in the dressing room Blows the windows from their frames. And the prompter in his corner is sorry that he came. When the bomb that's in the dressing room Blows the windows from their frames. And the prompter in his corner is sorry that he came. Did you learn your lines today? Well there is no rehearsal. The interval will last until The ice-cream lady melts away. The twelve piece orchestra are here, But there is no rehearsal. The first violinist's hands are chilled-- He's gone deaf in both ears. Well, the scenery is colorful, But the paint is so damn thin. You see the wall behind is crumbling, And the stage door is bricked in. But the audience keep arriving 'til they're standing in the wings. And we take the final curtain call, And the ceiling crashes in.
I'd like to take you to the edge of every morning On a magic eiderdown To a window chair In the Paradise Steakhouse Where there's a cup of silver coffee Steaming chrome reflections From the mist in your hair Try not to watch me (Try not to watch me) Just call me after darkfall (Call me after darkfall) I'll bring a whip to sow My seed on your land In the Paradise Steakhouse There's a cup of silver coffee A sheath of steel so you may hold My sword in your hand I'll cut you, divide you Into tender pieces No wings to fly away Upon my dear In the Paradise Steakhouse On a plate upon a table I will carve your name with care To last the years I'd like to eat you (I'd like to eat you) All fire will consume you (Fire will consume you) Roast on the spit of love On this arrow true In the Paradise Steakhouse I'll taste every finger Baking [picking?] in the ashes Til the flames rise anew [Repeat first and second stanzas]
Would you like to see my lion My friend Cecil is damp and smooth A damp smooth sea lion Yes, Cecil is a sea lion (Cecil is a sea lion) Cecil is a clever sea lion Cecil sometimes swims And often sits (And balances multicolored striped balls?) Yes, balances multicolored striped balls Clever Cecil (Cecil is a sea lion) Cecil the sea lion is serene He doesn't wear spectacles or a scarf (No central heating or cement) Well [But?] the whole ocean is Cecil's home (Cecil is a sea lion)
Come running. Go for overkill. If you don't come now, I'll be over the hill, all right? Tell me, ``All right.'' Got a sell-by date. Soon be out of stock. Pop me in your trolley you can start my clock. Well, all right? Tell me, ``All right.'' I could be on your shelf, could be the risk you take. I'm a cup of hot coffee, I'm a piece of cake. I'm the hot chicken in your superstore. You can take me home if you can take some more, Well, all right? Tell me, ``All right.'' I could be on your shelf, could be the bread you bake. I can fill your larder, I'm a piece of cake. Show me rosemary, I'll show her wild thyme. See you at the checkout or on the credit line. Well, all right? Tell me, ``All right.'' I'm your spicy filling, I'm your low-fat spread. I'll be your smooth rubber, be your pencil lead, All right? Tell me, ``All right.'' If you set me to simmer, if you grill my steak-- you can bowl me over, I'm a piece of cake.
Quartet [Instrumental]
I walked down that boulder road, Through a child's eye saw places where I used to go. Where I crawled barefoot with a fishing pole to the rock that overlooked that steelhead hole but it's true--silver river turning blue. It was a small town in a smaller world. Just a black dot on an old map with its edges curled. Where they built their industries on the edge of town-- Leaching chemicals from underground now it's true--that silver river turning blue. Just got a late reaction. Face reality and stare it down. Sometimes it's harder hanging on. Much easier to look around. But I need that job. Well, this place no city: we're just small players here. Like a million other heroes drinking poor man's beer. We know what's right. We're just living it wrong. But there's no easy answer in the green man's song. What do you do? When your river's turning Blue.
Tear it down in double quick time To get the eighth truck shifted 'bout midnight The locker rooms are empty but the [Strobo Tickers?][strobe boats?] still spin with their pitching lights And someone with a yellow pass Gives out precise directions as to where and when And here am I with a drumstick, While young girls set to rendezvous, and be recognized again Tomorrow is an off-day, Be in Baltimore by Thursday is the only law. There's a suite down at the hotel Reserved for making merry with connecting doors. The lighting man's already improvised a bar, And printed invitations to the ball. Off duty cops line corridors wearing Tull [two?] T-shirts proudly on the band's [...] wall Crew nights, no flashlights or folding knives, Best boots and road suits and nine lives. Feeling that it might be wrong to Temporarily belong to the P.A. man [men?] Some angel from the midwest is regretting being Undressed with no suntan His polaroid is snapping The head carpenter is rapping on The gates of dawn Sitting lonely with a warm beer The girl with dental braces wishes that she hadn't gone. Crew nights, no bar fights or [feeders?] [veeders?] wives Thin walls and late [blade?] calls and nine lives. Crew nights, no flashlights or folding knives, Best boots and road suits and nine lives.
Young Gladys was a silky maiden
At thirteen, she was going strong, yeah.
Oh, Gladys.
Nicely filled out, fully laden,
But down below there was something wrong, yeah.
Oh, Gladys.
Nobody told her about the secrets
That ladies have to hide
Mom had no words to describe the things
That happened inside.
Need someone to help me,
I feel that there's a curse on me, oh.
Went down into the local disco,
For what used to be the one night, yeah,
Oh Gladys.
Felt a searching hand to frisk her,
Along the legs of the water line, yeah,
Oh Gladys.
Now Gladys knew she was in no condition
In no mood to play
I cracked a knee in her soft spot, nothing
Had got in her way.
I want no one to touch me,
I feel there's a curse on me, oh.
Directed down to the local drugstore
Got fixed up, now she's doing fine, yeah
Oh Gladys
Equipped with various kinds of apparatus
You know the feminine hygiene kind, yeah
Oh Gladys
Must have been a man to do these things
Who won her fall from grace
That day he programmed me
[That lady programmed me?]
You should have seen the smile on his face
He said ``You'll need someone to help you
When you feel like cursing me'', oh.
She moves with machinery for the fancy sports car trade. Part of the industrial process: she sees that they stay made. She works from early A.M.. They work her to the bone. When I call her in the evening, she's too tired to lift the phone. Damned if I'll wait for her, and I'll be damned if I don't. Damned if I only see that Rosa on the factory floor. Signed on for the duration. They say she came from the East. With her tool bag and her coveralls, to pay the rent at least. She doesn't talk with workers on the rest of the line and over in the canteen, she's alone most of the time. Somewhere in her history is a lock without a key. She doesn't trust the management--and she won't trust me. We're two different animals. We live jungles apart. She circles round her freedom and I circle round her heart.
A small cigar can change the world I know, I've done it frequently at parties Where I've won all the guests' attention With my generosity and suave gentlemanly bearing A little flat tin case is all you need Breast-pocket conversation opener And one of those ciggie lighters that look rather good You can throw away when empty Must be declared a great success My small cigars all vanish within minutes Excuse me, mine host, that I may visit A nearby tobacconist To replenish my supply of small cigars And make the party swing again I know my clothes seem shabby And don't fit this Hampstead soiree Where unread copies of Rolling Stone Well-thumbed Playboys Decorate the hi-fi stereo record shelves If you ask me they're on their way To upper-middle-class oblivion The stupid twits, they roll their only One cigarette between them My small cigar's redundant now In the haze of smoking pleasure Call it a day Get the hell away Go down the cafe For a cup of real tea By the tube station, there's a drunk old fool Who sells papers in the rush hour I hand to him ten small cigars He smiles, says, ``Son, God bless you'' A small cigar Has changed his world, my friend A small cigar Has changed the world again A small cigar . . .
One day he'll walk from out of this place. You'll see a quiet determination on his face. He'll toe no lines. Suffer no fools. But he'll raise three cheers to the losing team from the other school. A little dedication. A little pair of daddy's shoes to fill. Compleat education. One day he'll be a man of principle. And the battle's on. And he'll play to win. Feel the blue blood rushing quick beneath his skin. And grim they stand. And hard they fall. Harder still, when their backs are up against the wall. Gonna get your attention. But he's carrying his cross to the other hill. With divine intervention, he can be a man of principle. In the evening light, with a fair-ground girl-- he stops himself as his head begins to whirl. And he walks her home. And there's a kiss goodbye. She feels a chill as she looks him in the eye. Well, there's a time and a place now and it's not tonight she'll bend his will. Slow realization--she's looking at a man of principle. Hung from the highest station by his old school tie-- undressed to kill He could be a real sensation. But he's a man of principle.
All right and honorable gentlemen And lady, too Will kindly try to restrain themselves In derring-do As verbal hard graffiti flies And echoes wall to wall Our precious model of democracy It's the House of Commons brawl One member from some dark mill town Furious did cry Spittle froth from folded chin To dim the lie Let's serve this brief and list the rush Of who's allowed catcalls Let's finish this right here and now At the House of Commons brawl Kick, punch with the government As with jackets off they fly heaven-bent Scratch gouge with the other side As the party firmly admit a fight Another day in the lives of those Who would guide us through If all is prepped that we should By their example do But there again I think for less For gyving to the wall The wrong house but the right idea To end the Commons brawl
I looked out of my window, saw a stencil black, NO STEP. NO STEP. There were nervous mothers with children crying in the back. NO STEP. NO STEP. Someone bought me my ticket, now I'm on the wing. Hope my angels are watching me, do I hear them sing? NO STEP. NO STEP. Those afterburners cut in and kicked us high. NO STEP. NO STEP. The thin air shimmered, the sun cut through and burned my eye. NO STEP. NO STEP. Someone bought me my ticket, now I'm on the wing. Hope my angels are watching me, do I hear them sing? NO STEP. NO STEP NO STEP. NO STEP NO STEP. NO STEP NO STEP. Give me a jet stream schooner or a crew-legged goose. NO STEP. NO STEP. I'm a clear-air jockey when they turn me loose NO STEP. NO STEP. Someone bought me my ticket to the captain's seat. Will the shakes soon leave me, will I find my feet? NO STEP. NO STEP. NO STEP. NO STEP. NO STEP.
Drive On The Young Side Of Life
Your mother she protected you And softened every blow And brought you up to fear the worst To be careful as you go And the learned educators With drip-feed [thrifty?] facts to fill You up to here with reason Well-meaning overkill If you find yourself a-growing to be old before your time Get off the endless corridor Set your soul out on the line Drive on the young side of life When the pressure pains are building And you're forced to join the crush In the race to mediocrity So respectable and plush And while the child within is raging And threatens to break out Get off the endless corridor Make a timely turnabout Drive on the young side of life.
Got a grand house out in the country. Marble pillars holding the door. Empty bottles lining the wall from the night before. Got a Roller out in the garage. But the wheels are stuck to the floor. Got no reason to go anywhere--no friends call anymore. I don't want to be me, I don't want to be me, I know it's hard to see, But I don't want to be me. Had me playing down at the palace. I was declared the belle of the ball. Made the boys take my goods and chattels away-- now I'm staring at an empty hall. I don't want to be me. Pardon me--I'm on my way. Pardon me but I'm going. Taking on the simple life and I feel the grass roots growing. I'm going to ride the ragged road-- diamond spurs jangling into the sunset. No circuits running overload--Well maybe I'm not done yet. Now there's nothing left in the cupboard and three bears' been eating my soup. My life is one big critical mess if you take a look. And the butler's off in Ibiza on expense account gone berserk. But I can't check out of this crazy world without being a jerk--I don't want to be me.
Dirty white caravans down our road, sailing.
Vivas, Cortinas, weaving in their wake.
With hot, red-faced drivers, horns flattened, fists whaling,
Putting trust in blind corners as they overtake.
And it's ``All come willing now,
Spend a shilling now,
Stack up the back of your new motor-car.''
There's home-dyed woolens, and wee plastic [Cuillins]
[blessed?] [Cuchulains?]
[Cuchulain == mythical Irish hero --- wee plastic Cuchulains?]
[jo-l@kcbbs.gen.nz (jo lobb) explains: Broadford is a town on
Skye (where the road that passes Dun Ringill leaves the main
road, incidentally) and Skye's famous Cuillin Hills are nearby.
I suppose tourists could be expected to buy wee plastic models
of spectacular hills .... Also, the Cuillin Hills are ``also
known as the Coolins or Cuchullins, possibly after an Ossianic
hero...'', so maybe wee plastic model heroes do make sense, after
all.]
The day of the Broadford Bazaar.
Out of the north, no oil-rigs are drifting.
And jobs for the many are down to the few.
Blue-bottle choppers, they visit no longer.
Like flies to the jampots, they were just passing through.
And it's ``All come willing now,
Spend a shilling now,
Stack up the back of your new motor-car''
Where once stood oil-rigs so phallic
There's only swear-words in Gaelic
To say at the Broadford bazaar.
All kinds of people come down for the opening.
Crofters and cottiers, white [wild?] settlers galore.
[Crofter == farmer renting land]
[Cottier == farmer renting land]
And up on the hill, there's an old sheep that's dying,
But it had two new lambs born just a fortnight before.
And it's ``All come willing now,
Spend a shilling now,
Stack up the back of your new motor-car.''
We'll take pounds, francs and dollars from the well-heeled,
And stamps from the Green Shield.
The day of the Broadford Bazaar.
Last light's out They're all abed And something's in my room Creeping down towards me on the wall Daddy said it's just some flickering headlight through the gloom Making shapes through trees outside the hall But what the hell does he know? He doesn't feel the dread The cold restricting terror in the dark I've seen that silhouette before Something the newsman said Something about some monster in the park Chorus: It's you, you're the man on the TV screen It's you front page face of the dead Locked up in the light of day At night come out to play To terrorize me there above my bed The air is still and heavy now There's thunder in the sky He's dreaming up some message he can send I'm scared completely helpless and I think I'm going to cry Are grownups brave or do they just pretend? His face is growing clearer I can see his eyes glow red My teddy bear's the only friend I can feel The shadow's hand slips down the wall And touches teddy's head I now suspect that shadow will touch me Chorus Repeat chorus It's you...
Stopped off on a long drive. Down from the high country. Spent a long time sitting here, Long time counting hot miles. Ohh, oh I'd like a cup of black coffee and a piece of sweet cake. But the girl in the print dress doesn't want my money-- she won't take it: she says-- Oh she says. Oh she says I just know you're a Leo, I can tell you've got a lion's heart. She went on in this way for a while, Like some 60's sister playing a part. Ohh this cup of black coffee gonna do me just fine. Through the dust in the mirror tiles I can see that door, Keep it close behind. Oh she says. She says, come on over to my house, make a journey here sometime. You know there's a party going on, a ladder in my stocking you can climb, There's a ladder you can climb. Oh she looked so liberated. She was looking fit to start. She got this back to front and sideways, wore her sleeve upon her heart. Ohhh, oh, just one more coffee's 'bout all I can take. Have to do a truck stop runner now. I'm not man enough to make it, She says. She says. Oh she says. She says, come on over to my house, make a journey here sometime. You know there's a party going on, a ladder in my stocking you can climb, There's a ladder you can climb. Stopped off on a long drive. Down from the high country. Spent a long time sitting here, Long time counting hot miles. Ohh, oh I'd like a cup of black coffee and a piece of sweet cake. But the girl in the print dress doesn't want my money-- she won't take it: she says-- Oh she says. She says, come on over to my house, make a journey here sometime. Kick off those tired sports shoes-- got a ladder in my stocking you can climb, There's a ladder you can climb. Truck stop runner. I'll be a truck stop runner.
Hard liner, she brings ice when I bring fire. She's a hard liner. Tightrope cross Niagara She'd cut the wire Never feel a thing. Walked the sidewalk of another strange avenue. Kicked my heels and wished my feet were in some other shoes. But I'm not running from that hard liner. Well she brings ice when I bring fire. She's a real hard liner. How does she retain my heart's desire? It's a funny thing. Knows what she wants, knows how to get it, too. Scares me with cold logic, scares me with the witch's brew. But I keep on drinking. Hard liner. Hard liner. I'm framed and I'm hanging on the wall. She's a hard liner. I'm like some big game trophy hat-stand in the hall. But I remember warm and loving nights. Her [red?] hair, restaurants, Swaying bust, headlights It's a funny thing. Hard liner. Yeah, she brings ice when I bring fire. Hard liner. Tightrope 'cross Niagara, don't cut my wire. Hard liner, hard, hard liner. She brings sun when I bring rain. She's a real hard liner. Yeah, we've got it all crossed up again. Hard liner. Hard liner. Now I don't think we can stay in the same town.