Sugarside
They’re spitting blood and they’re praying for rain on Sugarside,
They’re dressing up and falling down on Sugarside,
You sleep alone and you watch the sky on Sugarside,
Feel the heat burn your eyes on Sugarside.
But everything changes, always does
Everyone leaves you, always do.
They’re pressing shirts to look their best on Sugarside,
They’re hoping for some sympathy on Sugarside,
If you shout for help, you’ll be heard, on Sugarside,
Turn your back without any fear on Sugarside,
King Cupid
This time every night,
Faces made of porcelain,
Young men with dreams in their pockets,
They won’t take no for an answer
Dragged down with doubting words,
Crayons bright, they’re mixed and matched,
Women with the whitest skin you’ve ever seen
Pen to paper, fingers crossed,
Jack, Franz , sad Emile,
Men of ink, they’re men of paper,
Through thunder and lighting, they slept on.
Built up by body pumps,
With false confessions,
They walk on water.
Call for him, King Cupid.
Face to face, toe to toe,
No-one else needs to know,
Claude and Vincent knew their strengths,
They said all they had to say.
Love Will Blow Up In Your Face
She’ll wait outside for you with the engine running,
She’ll pass her time counting her engagement rings
There’ll be pauses of silence, whenever you’re together,
But don’t get too concerned, because it’s happened before.
What does that telephone say ?
Oh what a scandal,
What does that beating drum say?
Oh what a surprise
Love Will Blow Up In Your Face
She’ll send you postcards,
She’ll write ‘I wish you were here’
She’ll sun herself until the sun falls from the sky
She’ll tell you stories, then laugh if you believe them
But don’t get too concerned, because tomorrow’s another day
Yellowhouse
Cobalt blue as blue as the blue Atlantic
But it is the yellow, just the yellow of the wheatfield,
And it’s the yellow and the green of the sunflowers,
That shine from a canvas, that flow from a brush
That flies like arrows into all of us
Here’s a message from the Yellowhouse
We’ve got a secondhand bed,
A roof over our head,
There is room for colour and room for me
In the Yellowhouse
From the cold winds of the Lowlands to the Bible Belt
The rainbows that light the Summer skies
It’s the warmth from a fire in the next house,
That shine from a canvas, that flow from a brush
That flies like arrows into all of us
There’s a small house made from sugar and wood,
It’s painted yellow, but we could change all that,
And there’s a cat that really needs a home,
He’s really small but he will grow
Letters of The Alphabet
Good morning radio, it’s time to wash my hair,
It’s a new day, I’m twenty four hours older
I haven’t changed, there are no lines around my face
I wonder what you’re doing
There’s no time for me to wait, I have to get to work,
When I’m at work, I’m busy, No time to think of you
This coffee is bitter, but I need it, so I’ll drink it
Sometimes I lie in bed with Letters of the Alphabet
I wonder what you’re doing
I wonder who you’re seeing
Helen Come Home
Rachel set the world on fire,
The day before she ran out of air,
Helen chose her daughter’s name
Across the world, I bet it’s all the same
Someone’s got to give up cigarettes, someone’s got to do it
But why do they spend their time thinking they’re friends of mine ?
Susan stole the day off work,
She told her boss her eyes hurt,
Helen forgot hew own son’s name
Across the world, I bet it’s all the same
And when she blinks here eyes.
I’m always surprised by her frightening stare and her bright shiny hair
Tina Weymouth’s Smile
David Byrne pushes her around
Chris and Jerry , they don’t say a sound,
Facts are facts and here’s fact
She should walk out the door and don’t come back
She’s got a little brain in her little head,
Her little face is round and red,
‘Perhaps’ she says, ‘Perhaps and because’
Why doesn’t she stand up for herself?
Next to me and next to her,
No-one else seems to care
I have a gun that I can lend her
She Loves Me Like A Brother
From A to Z and 1 to 10
She ran through my life and back again.
She threw my surname on the floor,
Shr just walked in and then out of the door
She made some promises she simply could not keep,
Tried to find things she could not seek,
From Harrow to Timbuktu,
She would sometimes wish she was with you
It’s when the businessmen are busy
And when the newsmen make the news
When the world’s stopped spinning,
When from my mouth I hear myself say
She Loves Me Like a Brother,
But that’s not good enough
She drags me down with all her stuff
Last Disco In North Korea
The owner languishes in jail, the barman’s out on bail
It’s the last disco in North Korea
The doorman was found with a gun,
The go-go dancers are on the run
The whisky was watered down,
The brown ale wasn’t brown
The hat-check girl hasn’t been found,
The front of house greeter has gone to ground
Working in Korea, wrecked my career,
It’s far worse than I feared
Bang goes my chance to meet Emperor Rosko
They’re opening another one in San Francisco
I Ain’t Been With No Prostitute
I know it’s late, but it’s not that late
I’m unhappy with what you insinuate,
It’s 2am I can explain , It’s 2am I missed the train
It’s 2 am what’s wrong with you? It’s 2 am and I’m 42
Hands up if you’ve been with a prostitute
Thumbs up if you ever been with a prostitute
Oh No, You’re Pregnant
I’ve just been to the surgery,
They say they’ve got some great news for me,
They’ve been looking at your medical history,
You seem to be lacking Vitiman B
The girl from the clinic became agitated
The test results had become complicated
Microscopes and X-Rays don’t lie
There is no doubt you’re having a child
It’s not as if we didn’t take precautions
It’s not as if we didn’t act with caution
You’re in labour, but you don’t vote,
You’re up the stick and morning sick,
When the seagull follows the trawler
It’s because they think sardines will be thrown into the sea
I’ve told them there must be an error,
I’ve asked them to check their computers
The London Rubber Company can expect
To receive a letter from my solicitor next week
King of The Manchester Baggy Scene
I was a Manchester City trainee, but my career was ended by a broken knee
I failed all my O-Levels due to no revision, I became a roadie for Joy Division,
I was pinned up against the wall at The Manchester Free Trade Hall
By the future rhythm section of The Fall
Tony Wilson witnessed it all
I was a Stockholm Monster and a Chameleon
I sang backing vocals for the Durutti Column
I ran warehouse parties in Trafford Park
I sold Chelsea boots to John Cooper-Clarke
I managed the Happy Sundays, then they changed their name,
They ditched me and went onto worldwide fame
I was brought in to help write ‘Wonderwall’
But now the Gallagher brothers won’t return my call
Now I’m the head of a new regime,
I’m the King of the Manchester Baggy Scene
The Most Handsome Man on T.V.
I’ve got a daughter, but I never see her,
Got a daughter and a son somewhere,
Had a wife in another life,
Got a car with payments due
I walk home from work through the fog,
Bang my poor bones on a rusty fence,
I got a Union Card on Labour Day,
Spent all the night counting my pay.
Look at me, look at me,
Let it Be, Let it Be,
Let them through,
I know just what they’re going through.
But all that happened a long, long time ago
Black Girlfriend
These days will never end with my Black Girlfriend,
See her twist and bend, she is my Black Girlfriend,
It’s a love chase, a mixed race ,
They’ve never seen anything like it in this place.
She said ‘ You’ve got a very vivid imagination - with ideas way above your station’
I said ‘ Let me stop you there - Can I touch your hair?’
I write stuff and send it to my Black Girlfriend,
I steal stuff and give it to my Black Girlfriend
They are making a documentary - about what she sees in me
They don’t know what to call it yet,
I said I’d help them out with that
She said ‘Weren’t you married before?’
I said ‘Yeah, but that was back in 1984’
I said ‘Let’s stop this charade’
‘Would you like a cherryade, or something stronger?’
I said ‘My wife doesn’t understand me’
She said ‘ Sorry, but I don’t understand’
My First Day Out Of Jail
I had a barrack room lawyer
Who had tried to defend Toyah
She’d been charged with crimes against the state
Dating back to 1978
I had been charged with homicide
And attempting suicide,
I was banged up with a nonce,
That’s just one up from a ponce
This is my first day out of jail
Is Martin still with Gail?
What is e-mail?
Do the blind still use braile?
What became of Jimmy Nail
On the way out of the gates,
I crossed paths with Bill Gates,
He’d just got 18 months,
For non-payment of water rates
Morrissey Stole All My Ideas
Look at him, the little shit, with his receding quiff.
Hit him put him in a sack, throw him over a cliff.
He must have got in around 1978,
Committing this heinous crime around early 1979
Cut his throat with garden shears,
Impale him on 1,000 spears,
Run him over, grind the gears,
Morrissey stole all my ideas.
His lyrics come from my notebook,
Plots and choruses he took,
That microphone thing he does, I did,
Everything he does I did
He escaped in a stolen car,
Driven by Johnny Marr,
Based his whole career, on all of my ideas.
Gay Lorry Drivers
I got tired hanging around with the hunger strikers,
Got bored of all those leather motor bikers,
So I looked to God for some salvation,
I said I know you’re busy but,
I’d like some inspiration.
Is there a society or club around here,
That can light my fire - make me feel alive?
A club or a sect on a recruitment drive,
Wash the oily grime from my skin
Gay Lorry Drivers,
They vent their sexual frustration in the motorway service stations,
Enjoy the spoils of an all day breakfast with an apprentice boy from Belfast.
I was saved from a life of crime by a close friend of mine,
I failed the entrance examination to work in a nuclear power station,
So I scoured the local press for some inspiration,
There must be a place for me in this once great nation
Have I at last found a place in life, to rest in peace amongst devotees?
The Chrysler Building (1976)
Build me up in the Chrysler Building,
Push me over,
I am falling , falling
I am redesigning.
As I look down, across this noble town,
It’s an urban myth, it was designed by Patti Smith
Richard Hell and Tom Verlaine,
They look exactly the same,
There is CBGBs
A documentary on BBC
It’s the cry of the Chrysler Building.
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