Desert Island Lyrics
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swee'pea99
Legendary Member
I've posted both of these before but they bear repetition I think...
I have squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles,
Such are promises, all lies and jest,
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest
and
Eleanor Rigby
Picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window
Wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?
I have squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles,
Such are promises, all lies and jest,
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest
and
Eleanor Rigby
Picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window
Wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?
Profpointy
Legendary Member
How about "the Boxer". It would stand as a poem without the music
I am just a poor boy though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles,
Such are promises, all lies and jest,
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest,
And I'm laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was gone,
Goin' home
Where the New York City winters aren't bleedin' me, leadin' me,
Goin' home.
In the clearing stands a boxer, and a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down or cut him
'Til he cried out in his anger and his shame
I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains.
I am just a poor boy though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles,
Such are promises, all lies and jest,
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest,
And I'm laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was gone,
Goin' home
Where the New York City winters aren't bleedin' me, leadin' me,
Goin' home.
In the clearing stands a boxer, and a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down or cut him
'Til he cried out in his anger and his shame
I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains.
Epitaph, by King Crimson, written by Peter Sinfield..
Gets me every time!
The wall on which the prophets wrote
Is cracking at the seams
Upon the instruments of death
The sunlight brightly gleams
When every man is torn apart
With nightmares and with dreams
Will no one lay the laurel wreath
When silence drowns the screams
Confusion will be my epitaph
As I crawl a cracked and broken path
If we make it we can all sit back and laugh
But I fear tomorrow I'll be crying
Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying
Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying
Between the iron gates of fate
The seeds of time were sown
And watered by the deeds of those
Who know and who are known
Knowledge is a deadly friend
If no one sets the rules
The fate of all mankind I see
Is in the hands of fools
The wall on which the prophets wrote
Is cracking at the seams
Upon the instruments of death
The sunlight brightly gleams
When every man is torn apart
With nightmares and with dreams
Will no one lay the laurel wreath
When silence drowns the screams
Confusion will be my epitaph
As I crawl a cracked and broken path
If we make it we can all sit back and laugh
But I fear tomorrow I'll be crying
Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying
Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying
Crying
Crying
Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying
Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying
Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying
Crying
Gets me every time!
The wall on which the prophets wrote
Is cracking at the seams
Upon the instruments of death
The sunlight brightly gleams
When every man is torn apart
With nightmares and with dreams
Will no one lay the laurel wreath
When silence drowns the screams
Confusion will be my epitaph
As I crawl a cracked and broken path
If we make it we can all sit back and laugh
But I fear tomorrow I'll be crying
Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying
Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying
Between the iron gates of fate
The seeds of time were sown
And watered by the deeds of those
Who know and who are known
Knowledge is a deadly friend
If no one sets the rules
The fate of all mankind I see
Is in the hands of fools
The wall on which the prophets wrote
Is cracking at the seams
Upon the instruments of death
The sunlight brightly gleams
When every man is torn apart
With nightmares and with dreams
Will no one lay the laurel wreath
When silence drowns the screams
Confusion will be my epitaph
As I crawl a cracked and broken path
If we make it we can all sit back and laugh
But I fear tomorrow I'll be crying
Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying
Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying
Crying
Crying
Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying
Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying
Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying
Crying
John Cooper Clarke has so many good Lyrics, its hard to chose, this will do for now.
SALOME MALONEY
I was walking down oxford road
Dressed in what they call the mode
I could hear them spinning all their smash hits
At the mecca of the modern dance, the Ritz
My feet foxtrotted
My shoulders did the shimmy
The bouncer on the door said “a gimme, gimme, gimme”
I gave ’em the tickets, they gave me the shoots
No healthy arguments… in the Ritz
Standing by the cig’ machine, who did i see
In lurex and terylene, she hypnotised me
I asked her name, she said it’s…
“Salome Maloney, queen of the Ritz”
Lacquered in a beehive
Her barnet didn’t budge
Wet-look lips, she smiled as sweet as fudge
She had a number on her back
And sequins on her tits
The sartorial requirements
For females in the Ritz
A man making like Fred Astaire
Complete with spats and tails
A Douglas Fairbanks moustache
Dirty fingernails
Whose snide innuendo was as subtle as the blitz
Waltzed off with Salome in his greasy little mitts
Standing in the dandruff light
Trying to get pissed
Amongst the head-lice, old spice, Brut and body mist
How can she be seen dead
Dancing with that tit
Her being Salome, el supremo of the Ritz
Tables flew, bottles broke
The bouncers shouted “lumber”
The dummy got too chummy
In a Bing Crosby number
The bouncers said it’s suicide
Trying to get your mitts
On Salome Maloney, the queen of the Ritz
When the ambulances came,
She was lying on the deck
She’d fell off her stiletto heels
And broke her farking neck
The band threw down their instruments
The management threw fits
She’s dead. she don’t bring the business to the Ritz
The over twenty-one’s night said it was a shame
The divorcee club will never be the same
Joe Loss killed himself and Vic Sylvester quit
When the death dance drama did away with the Ritz
When the last waltz withered
And the quickstep stopped
The ladies excuse me was permanently blocked
And mecca make a living
Selling little bits
Of Salome Maloney
In the wreckage of the Ritz
SALOME MALONEY
I was walking down oxford road
Dressed in what they call the mode
I could hear them spinning all their smash hits
At the mecca of the modern dance, the Ritz
My feet foxtrotted
My shoulders did the shimmy
The bouncer on the door said “a gimme, gimme, gimme”
I gave ’em the tickets, they gave me the shoots
No healthy arguments… in the Ritz
Standing by the cig’ machine, who did i see
In lurex and terylene, she hypnotised me
I asked her name, she said it’s…
“Salome Maloney, queen of the Ritz”
Lacquered in a beehive
Her barnet didn’t budge
Wet-look lips, she smiled as sweet as fudge
She had a number on her back
And sequins on her tits
The sartorial requirements
For females in the Ritz
A man making like Fred Astaire
Complete with spats and tails
A Douglas Fairbanks moustache
Dirty fingernails
Whose snide innuendo was as subtle as the blitz
Waltzed off with Salome in his greasy little mitts
Standing in the dandruff light
Trying to get pissed
Amongst the head-lice, old spice, Brut and body mist
How can she be seen dead
Dancing with that tit
Her being Salome, el supremo of the Ritz
Tables flew, bottles broke
The bouncers shouted “lumber”
The dummy got too chummy
In a Bing Crosby number
The bouncers said it’s suicide
Trying to get your mitts
On Salome Maloney, the queen of the Ritz
When the ambulances came,
She was lying on the deck
She’d fell off her stiletto heels
And broke her farking neck
The band threw down their instruments
The management threw fits
She’s dead. she don’t bring the business to the Ritz
The over twenty-one’s night said it was a shame
The divorcee club will never be the same
Joe Loss killed himself and Vic Sylvester quit
When the death dance drama did away with the Ritz
When the last waltz withered
And the quickstep stopped
The ladies excuse me was permanently blocked
And mecca make a living
Selling little bits
Of Salome Maloney
In the wreckage of the Ritz
The Crofted Crest
Veteran
If it's lyrics that are pure poetry it has to be Clutch with Emily Dickinson:
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtZGAEUaHz4
The farmhouse was overtaken
By vine and the snake
Hooked on phantom power
The acres seemed to ache
Pursued by floating rebels
They'd take us, if they could
I thought a spell of country living
Would do my spirits good
Won't you lay your hair down low?
Staring out the windowpane
There's so much more to know
All buttoned down in Victoria-black
Let's watch the white clouds run
With the cool grass on our backs
The door mouse was mistaken
There was no quarter there
The attic and the cellar
Were but jaws of a bear
The hunter was the quarry
All tangled in the wood
I thought a spell of country living
Would do my spirits good
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtZGAEUaHz4
The farmhouse was overtaken
By vine and the snake
Hooked on phantom power
The acres seemed to ache
Pursued by floating rebels
They'd take us, if they could
I thought a spell of country living
Would do my spirits good
Won't you lay your hair down low?
Staring out the windowpane
There's so much more to know
All buttoned down in Victoria-black
Let's watch the white clouds run
With the cool grass on our backs
The door mouse was mistaken
There was no quarter there
The attic and the cellar
Were but jaws of a bear
The hunter was the quarry
All tangled in the wood
I thought a spell of country living
Would do my spirits good
Right, I've had enough of this. THE greatest lyric ever written and recorded are as follows so we may as well close this thread now.
I ONCE KNEW A GIRL
WHO WAS VERY VERY SHY
SHE NEVER EVER SEEMED
TO CATCH ANY BOY'S EYE
SHE HIT DOWN A TRICK
THAT MADE ALL THE BOYS STARE
SHE'D LEAP UP AND DOWN AND
WAVE HER KNICKERS IN THE AIR
SUCCESS SPREAD LIKE WILD FIRE
AND VERY VERY SOON
ALL THE OTHER GIRLS IN TOWN
CAUGHT ON TO HER TUNE
AND DOWN ON THE BEACH
EVERYDAY WITHOUT A CARE
THEY'D LEAP UP AND DOWN AND
WAVE THEIR KNICKERS IN THE AIR
LEAP UP AND DOWN AND
WAVE YOUR KNICKERS IN THE AIR
GOTTA DO YOUR THING
ANYTIME ANYWHERE
IF YOU WANNA DO SOMETHING
TO MAKE THE BOYS STARE
LEAP UP AND DOWN AND
WAVE YOUR KNICKERS IN THE AIR
BOYS CAME FROM MILES AROUND
TO SEE THE STRANGE SIGHT
LOTS OF NAKED LADIES
IN THE EARLY EARLY LIGHT
BLONDES BRUNETTES AND
RED HEADS CONGREGATING THERE
LEAPING UP AND DOWN WAVING
THEIR KNICKERS IN THE AIR
LEAP UP AND DOWN AND
WAVE YOUR KNICKERS IN THE AIR
GOTTA DO YOUR THING
ANYTIME ANYWHERE
IF YOU WANNA DO SOMETHING
TO MAKE THE BOYS STARE
LEAP UP AND DOWN AND
WAVE YOUR KNICKERS IN THE AIR
SO LISTEN ALL YOU LADIES
IF YOU WANNA START A STORM
WAIT UNTIL THE WEATHER
IS VERY VERY WARM
STRIP ALL YOUR CLOTHES
DOWN TO YOUR UNDERWEAR
THEN LEAP UP AND DOWN AND
WAVE YOUR KNICKERS IN THE AIR
LEAP UP AND DOWN AND
WAVE YOUR KNICKERS IN THE AIR
GOTTA DO YOUR THING
ANYTIME ANYWHERE
IF YOU WANNA DO SOMETHING
TO MAKE THE BOYS STARE
LEAP UP AND DOWN AND
WAVE YOUR KNICKERS IN THE AIR
LEAP UP AND DOWN AND
WAVE YOUR KNICKERS IN THE AIR
GOTTA DO YOUR THING
ANYTIME ANYWHERE
I ONCE KNEW A GIRL
WHO WAS VERY VERY SHY
SHE NEVER EVER SEEMED
TO CATCH ANY BOY'S EYE
SHE HIT DOWN A TRICK
THAT MADE ALL THE BOYS STARE
SHE'D LEAP UP AND DOWN AND
WAVE HER KNICKERS IN THE AIR
SUCCESS SPREAD LIKE WILD FIRE
AND VERY VERY SOON
ALL THE OTHER GIRLS IN TOWN
CAUGHT ON TO HER TUNE
AND DOWN ON THE BEACH
EVERYDAY WITHOUT A CARE
THEY'D LEAP UP AND DOWN AND
WAVE THEIR KNICKERS IN THE AIR
LEAP UP AND DOWN AND
WAVE YOUR KNICKERS IN THE AIR
GOTTA DO YOUR THING
ANYTIME ANYWHERE
IF YOU WANNA DO SOMETHING
TO MAKE THE BOYS STARE
LEAP UP AND DOWN AND
WAVE YOUR KNICKERS IN THE AIR
BOYS CAME FROM MILES AROUND
TO SEE THE STRANGE SIGHT
LOTS OF NAKED LADIES
IN THE EARLY EARLY LIGHT
BLONDES BRUNETTES AND
RED HEADS CONGREGATING THERE
LEAPING UP AND DOWN WAVING
THEIR KNICKERS IN THE AIR
LEAP UP AND DOWN AND
WAVE YOUR KNICKERS IN THE AIR
GOTTA DO YOUR THING
ANYTIME ANYWHERE
IF YOU WANNA DO SOMETHING
TO MAKE THE BOYS STARE
LEAP UP AND DOWN AND
WAVE YOUR KNICKERS IN THE AIR
SO LISTEN ALL YOU LADIES
IF YOU WANNA START A STORM
WAIT UNTIL THE WEATHER
IS VERY VERY WARM
STRIP ALL YOUR CLOTHES
DOWN TO YOUR UNDERWEAR
THEN LEAP UP AND DOWN AND
WAVE YOUR KNICKERS IN THE AIR
LEAP UP AND DOWN AND
WAVE YOUR KNICKERS IN THE AIR
GOTTA DO YOUR THING
ANYTIME ANYWHERE
IF YOU WANNA DO SOMETHING
TO MAKE THE BOYS STARE
LEAP UP AND DOWN AND
WAVE YOUR KNICKERS IN THE AIR
LEAP UP AND DOWN AND
WAVE YOUR KNICKERS IN THE AIR
GOTTA DO YOUR THING
ANYTIME ANYWHERE
Chris S
Legendary Member
- Location
- Birmingham
Paul Weller wrote these lyrics about the pointless lives some people live:
Saturday's kids play on one-armed bandits,
They never win but that's not the point is it?
Saturday's kids play on one-armed bandits,
They never win but that's not the point is it?
matticus
Guru
I can't believe no-one's covered that recently.
