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Great lyrics - "I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die...."


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Mrs Potter's Lullaby - Counting Crows. I think some of these lines are beautiful.


Well I woke in mid-afternoon cause that's when it all hurts the most

I dream I never know anyone at the party and I'm always the host

If dreams are like movies, then memories are films about ghosts

You can never escape, you can only move south down the coast


well, I am an idiot walking a tightrope of fortune and fame

I am an acrobat swinging trapezes through circles of flame

If you've never stared off in the distance, then your life is a shame

and though I'll never forget your face,

sometimes i can't remember my name


Hey Mrs. Potter don't cry

Hey Mrs. Potter I know why but

Hey Mrs. Potter won't you talk to me


Well, there's a piece of Maria in every song that I sing

And the price of a memory is the memory of the sorrow it brings

And there is always one last light to turn out and one last bell to ring

And the last one out of the circus has to lock up everything


Or the elephants will get out and forget to remember what you said

And the ghosts of the tilt-a-whirl will linger inside your head

And the ferris wheel junkies will spin there forever instead

When I see you a blanket of stars covers me in my bed


Hey Mrs. Potter don't go

Hey Mrs. Potter I don't know but

Hey Mrs. Potter won't you talk to me


All the blue light reflections that color my mind when I sleep

And the lovesick rejections that accompany the company I keep

All the razor perceptions that cut just a little too deep

Hey I can bleed as well as anyone, but I need someone to help me sleep


So I throw my hand into the air and it swims in the beams

It's just a brief interruption of the swirling dust sparkle jet stream

Well, I know I don't know you and you're probably not what you seem

But I'd sure like to find out

So why don't you climb down off that movie screen


Hey Mrs. Potter don't turn

Hey Mrs. Potter I burn for you

Hey Mrs. Potter won't you talk to me


When the last king of Hollywood shatters his glass on the floor

and orders another

Well, I wonder what he did that for

That's when I know that I have to get out cause I have been there before

So I gave up my seat at the bar and I head for the door


We drove out to the desert just to lie down beneath this bowl of stars

We stand up in the palace like it's the last of the great pioneer town bars

We shout out these songs against the clang of electric guitars

You can see a million miles tonight

But you can't get very far

Oh, you can see a million miles tonight

But you can't get very far

flapjackdavey Wrote:

-------------------------------------------------------

> "I wasn't born of a whistle or milked from a

> thistle at twighlight

> No,I was all horns and thorns . sprung out fully

> formed , knock-kneed and upright"



more of the lovely joanna (tu)

"Living in silence, there's no violence,

Relax, I think I'm a Venusian".

(The Waltons)



Other people's food tastes nicer than my own,

that's why you rarely find me dining at home,

I must admit that it's a habit of mine,

to arrive shortly before tea-time.


Can I come in, you know it's only me,

I didn't realise that it was time for tea,

well since you ask I don't mind if I do,

don't go to any trouble I'll have the same as you.


Curry and rice would be very nice,

a glass of wine would be just fine,

and after the meal we'll see how we feel,

I feel mellow as a cello.

(The Waltons)

Well, it's ten years since he passed away so, you want lyrics? Consult Ian Dury. He's your man.


Billercay Dickie


Good evening I'm from Essex

in case you couldn't tell

my given name is Dickie, I come from Billericay

and I'm doing very well


had a love affair with Nina

in the back of my Cortina

a seasoned up hyena could not have been more obscener

she took me to the cleaners

and other misdemeanours

but I got right up between her

rum and her Ribena


well, you ask Joyce and Vicki

if candy-floss is sticky

I'm not a blinking thicky

I'm Billericay Dickie

and i'm doing very well


I bought a lot of brandy

when I was courting Sandy

took eight to make her randy

and all I had was shandy

another thing with Sandy

what often came in handy

was passing her a 'Mandy'

she didn't half go bandy


so you ask Joyce and Vicki

if I ever took the mickey

I'm not a flipping thicky

I'm Billericay Dickie

and I'm doing very well


I'd rendezvous with Janet

quite near the Isle of Thanet

she looked more like a gannet

she wasn't half a prannet

her mother tried to ban it

her father helped me plan it

and when I captured Janet she bruised her pomegranet


so you ask Joyce and Vicki

if I ever shaped up tricky

I'm not a blooming thicky

I'm Billericay Dickie

and I'm doing very well


you should never hold a candle if you don't know where it's been

the jackpot is in the handle on a normal fruit machine


so you ask Joyce and Vicki

who's their favourite brickie

I'm not a common thicky

I'm Billericay Dickie

and I'm doing very well


I know a lovely old toe-rag obliging and noblesse

kindly, charming shag from Shoeburyness


my given name is Dickie

I come from Billericay

I thought you'd never guess


so you ask Joyce and Vicki

a pair of squeaky chickies

I'm not a flaming thicky I'm Billericay Dickie

and I'm doing very well


oh golly, oh gosh come and lie on the couch

with a nice bit of posh from Burnham-on-Crouch


my given name is Dickie, I come from Billericay

and I ain't a slouch


so you ask Joyce and Vicki

about Billericay Dickie

I ain't an effin' thicky

you ask Joyce and Vicki

and I'm doing very well.

Ian Dury - Blockheads


You must have seen parties of Blockheads

With blotched and lagered skin

Blockheads with food particles in their teeth

What a horrible state they're in


They've got womanly breasts under pale mauve vests

Shoes like dead pigs' noses

Cornflake packet jacket, catalogue trousers

A mouth what never closes


You must have seen Blockheads in raucous teams

Dressed up after work

Who screw their poor old Eileens

Get sloshed and go berserk


Rotary accessory watches

Hire-purchase signet rings

A beauty to the bully boys

No lonely vestige clings


Why bother at all about Blockheads?

Why shouldn't they do as they please?

You know if it came to a brainy game

You could baffle a Blockhead with ease


How would you like one puffing and blowing in your ear-hole?

Or pissing in your swimming pool?


Bigger brained Blockheads often acquire

Black and orange cars

Premature ejaculation drivers

Their soft-top's got roll-bars


'Fill her up,' they say to Blockheads

'Go on, stick it where it hurts'

Their shapeless haircuts don't enhance

Their ghastly patterned shirts


Why bother at all about Blockheads?

Superior as you are

You're thoughtful and kind with a well-stocked mind

A Blockhead can't think very far


Imagine finding one in your laundry basket

Banging nails in your big black dog


Why bother at all about Blockheads?

Why should you care what they do?

Cos after all is said and done

You're a Blockhead too


Blockheads

Blockheads

Blockheads

(oi oi)

Blockheads

(oi, oi)...

I've just be reminded of this fella by Peckhamgatecrasher on another thread.


Jake Thackray The Castleford Ladies' Magical Circle



The Castleford Ladies' Magical Circle meets tonight,

In an upstairs aspidistra'd room that's lit by candlelight,

Where Elizabeth Jones and Lily O'Grady

And three or four more married ladies

Practice every week unspeakable pagan rites.


Dressed in their Sunday coats and their flowerpot hats,

Respectable middle-aged ladies - running to fat, at that -

There's Elizabeth Jones and Lily O'Grady

And three or four more married ladies,

Each with a Woolworth's broomstick and a tabby cat.


But they don't waste time with a ouija board or a seance now and again, no.

None of your wittering, twittering, petty poltergeists for them. No,

Elizabeth Jones and Lily O'Grady

And three or four more married ladies

Prefer to be tickled by the whiskery chins of bogey men.


Their husbands potter at snooker down the club,

Unaware of the devilish jiggery-poke and rub-a-dub-dub,

While Elizabeth Jones and Lily O'Grady

And three or four more married ladies

Are frantically dancing naked for Beelzebub.


And after the witches' picnic and the devil's grog,

After their savage pantings, their hysterical leap-frog, well,

Elizabeth Jones and Lily O'Grady

And three or four more married ladies

Go back home for cocoa and the Epilogue.


So be careful how you go of a Saturday night:

If you see a little old lady passing by, it very well might be

Elizabeth Jones or Lily O'Grady

Or one of those satanical ladies.

Their eyes are wild and bright, their cheekbones all alight.

Don't go where they invite,

Because the Castleford Ladies' Magical Circle meets tonight.

If you want a lover

I'll do anything you ask me to

And if you want another kind of love

I'll wear a mask for you

If you want a partner

Take my hand

Or if you want to strike me down in anger

Here I stand

I'm your man


If you want a boxer

I will step into the ring for you

And if you want a doctor

I'll examine every inch of you

If you want a driver

Climb inside

Or if you want to take me for a ride

You know you can

I'm your man

Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want,

So tell me what you want, what you really really want,

I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want,

So tell me what you want, what you really really want,

I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really

really really wanna zigazig ha.


They don't write 'em like that anymore!

Dory Previn wrote of Mia Farrow 'beware of young girls with delicate hands' as she (Farrow)walked off with Andre Previn.



Dylan wrote "His clothes are dirty but his hands are clean"

in Lay lady lay.


I always thought it a poignant line.

you're not the girl next door

or thr girl in France

or the cigerette girl in the sizzle hot pants

all the words of love seem cool and crass

when you're tough and transparent as armoured glass

your'e an everyday girl , in an everyday mess

who's gonna pay for the crimes of Paris

Would you believe Andrew Eldritch of The Sisters Of Mercy? The song is Some Kind Of Stranger from the album First and Last and Always.


I can go on about their lyrics but generally they're all thought about, a lot relate to the Wasteland, a whole site here http://1959.tsom.org/index.html

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