🎵 Favourite lyrics in a song

:musical_note: Favourite lyrics in a song
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#101

Good spot.


#102

An earwig crawled into my ear

Made a meal of the wax and hair

Phoned friends, had an insect party

And all I could hear was the bass drum drum.


#103

Old man look at my life , I’m alot like you were


#104

Tell everybody
Waitin’ for Superman
That they should try to hold on
Best they can
He hasn’t dropped them
Forgot them
Or anything
It’s just too heavy for Superman to lift


#105

Black eyed dog, he knew my name


#106

On the high-rise estate
What’s at the back of your mind?
On a three-day debate, on the high-rise estate
What’s at the back of your mind?

Two icy cold hands conducting the way
It’s the Eskimo blood in my veins
Amid concrete and clay and general decay
Nature must still find a way

So ignore all the codes of the day
Let your juvenile impulses sway
This way and that way and this way and that way
God, how sex implores you to let yourself, lose yourself


#107

We earmarked our August vacation as a fine place to fall apart.
And we heard that a trial separation was a quaint idea for a new start.
Then the city approached like a bandit, my hands shook as they gripped the wheel.
As if I’d always known there’s no place like home to show you the way that you feel.

A rainy afternoon in your bedroom, clothes in two piles on the floor.
One is labeled haute couture couture, the other’s marked alms for the poor.
I’m just loitering trying to look helpful; you offer two corners of the sheet.
We fold over and over and over again and then in the middle we’ll meet.

Now some days I feel like an engagement ring, resting on the ocean floor.
Yet others just like that same Glen Campbell record found in every second hand store.
Now right now I’m watching a drummer, haul his drums into a bar.
And deep down I’m secretly happy, that I play the harmonica.

No I’m not sayin I’m lazy, I just, take more time to digress.
And of more than three ways I empty my days, now that you’re not around to impress.
And of more than three ways I empty my days, now that you’re not around to impress.

Those forming, morning birds.
They don’t do things by thirds.

And your voice sounds just like it’s reading, from a birthday telegram.
It says you’re looking a little older, I say that’s funny because I am.
Last year escaped by the window, and this year’s going for a song.
And the church bells they’re plagiarizing, merrily we roll along.

No we weren’t together forever, but then what the hell does that mean?
One persons lifetime the history of mankind, or the years since I turned seventeen?
One persons lifetime the history of mankind, or the years since you turned seventeen?

Yeah I was light headed unfettered not falsely, claimed to know the dimensions of love.
I was prone to wild exaggeration, sayin things I had no concept of.
Maybe love takes the form of a mountain, with no choice but forever to linger.
Or maybe love lives in a soap bubble, at the mercy of a childs finger.

But each one comes with a little rainbow, designed to hypnotize us.
And I wouldn’t trade one heart-broken minute, for a years worth of dull happiness.

So I built myself another lifetime, oh how quick did the calendar grow?
And right now I’m seven years wiser, than I was twenty-five years ago.

I stop to play with this cat on the footpath, and he’s cleaning his head with his paw.
And I know that you’re gone so I’m moving on, still I know that you’re worth mourning for.
And I’m feeling just fine but I’m taking my time, cause I know that you’re worth mourning for.


#108

“The following is a true story. Only the names have been changed to protect the guilty”


#109

Some people run from trouble,

some people meet it half way,

others are glad to pay for its cab fare over.


#110

Rallyboy’s favourite

When she wakes up in the morning
She writes down all her dreams
Reads like the book of revelations
Or the Beano or the unabridged ulysses

Oh I really wanna know
So tell me, where does all the money go
where does all the money go
Straight, straight up her nose


#111

Fisrt came across this song written by Si Kahn, when a student in 1989 - when sung by the unique voice of Dick Gaughan - it really comes to life.

You must know someone like him
He was tall and strong and lean
With a body like a greyhound
And a mind so sharp and keen
But his heart, just like a laurel,
Grew twisted round itself
Till almost every thing he did
Caused pain to someone else

It’s not just what you’re born with
It’s what you choose to bear
It’s not how big your share is
But how much you can share
And it’s not the fights you dreamed of
But those you really fought
It’s not what you’ve been given
It’s what you do with what you’ve got

Now what’s the good of two strong legs
If you only run away?
And what use is the finest voice
If you’ve nothing good to say?
And what good is strength and muscle
If you only push and shove?
And what’s the use of two good ears
If you can’t hear those you love?

Between those who use their neighbours
And those who use a cane
Between those in constant power
And those in constant pain
Between those who run to evil
And those who cannot run
Tell me which ones are the cripples
And which ones touch the sun?


#112

Out came the sunshine and dried up all the rain.


#113

Between Marx and marzipan in the dictionary there was Mary
Between the Deep Blue Sea and the Devil that was me
If ever anyone could help me with my obsession with
The young Suzannah York
It was Mary

In my pink pajamas she asked me for something
I gave her the short answer
She read our stars out loud
And I knew then that we should have gone sailing
But we stayed home instead
Fighting on the water bed
Like the honeymoon couple on drugs
Me and Mary

What happened in the past
Remained a mystery of natural history
She should have been the last
But she was just the latest
If she wanted to be a farmer’s wife
I would endure that muddy life
I would dig for victory

And the sound of happy couples
Coupling happily in the dark
While you and I sat down to tea
I remember you said to me
That no amount of poetry
Would mend this broken heart
But you can put the Hoover round
If you want to make a start

All my friends from school
Introduce me to their spouses
While I’m left standing here
With my hands down the front of my trousers
I just don’t know what’s to be done
I wonder sometimes how did Dad meet Mum
And how did they conceive of me
Tell my Mary

The boys who came to the shop
Always made her laugh much more than I did
When I told her this must stop
She didn’t bat an eyelid
She said you know honey it’s such a shame
You’ll never be any good at this game
You bruise too easily
So said Mary

Her two brothers took me out
Of circulation for the duration
So we went our separate ways but does she still love me
She still has my door key
Like a bully boy in a Benetton shop
You’re never happy with what you’ve got
Till what you’ve got is gone


#114

I heard the name Josephine,
It came to me in a dream.
And I don’t usually set too much store by the things
These things might mean.
But it was spoken with seriousness,
More of a whisper than a scream.
So now I’m waiting on some Josephine
To show herself to me.

I could have been anyone I imagined I could be;
I just needed somebody to wake me from my sleep.
I could have been Napoleon, could have been Beethoven,
Could have been anyone but uncomfortable me.
So come on now Josephine, show yourself to me.

Come on now Josephine,
Give me what I need.
I don’t like to be needy but needs must,
I can’t stand being the person that I’ve been.
I’m an impending car crash,
And you’re the first one on the scene.
I’m a defeated commander, I’m a half-deaf composer,
I’m a strange name whispered in a dream.

I could have been anyone I imagined I could be;
I just needed somebody to wake me from my sleep.
I could have been Napoleon, could have been Beethoven,
Could have been anyone but uncomfortable me.
So come on now Josephine, show yourself to me.

Come on now Josephine, let’s pretend it’s Halloween.
You come as a car crash, I’ll go as James Dean.
I’m Napoleon on Elba, and you’re a hundred days in 1815.
I wrote all of these letters to my immortal beloved,
And you’re the only one who’s ever going to know what they mean.

Come on now Josephine, wake me from my sleep.
I could have been anyone, but I ended up being me.
I could have been wide awake, could have been what you need,
I wish that I was anyone except for just me.
So come on now Josephine, show yourself to me.


#115

Please read me the phone book
From Abraham to Zuckerman
All addresses and names
Both Christian and sur -

You’ve my full attention
Yes I am the lucky one
To carry each word
From the place it occurred

In my neighbour’s garden
I’ll steal all the flowers
In the town you were born
I will do a handstand

'Cause I’m here
I came down in the last shower
With all the subtleties
Of a marching band

Seated in a lounge waiting to depart
You’d say that we’re off to a flying start

So let’s capture a city bus
We’ll jump from burning buildings
While a circle of firemen
Catch us in a net

We’ll make paper aeroplanes
Of encyclopaedia
From abacus to zebra
The entire set

For those who have matchmaking down to an art
They’d say that we’re off to a broken heart

But there’s never an argument
I don’t need an apology
It’s all half a dozen eggplants
Or six aubergines
Just please sing me the entire
Beatles anthology
From 'All My Loving’
To 'Yellow Submarine’
From ‘All My Loving’
To ‘Yellow Submarine’
From ‘All My Loving’
To a yellow submarine


#116

I started out with nothing, and I still got most of it left…

Seasick Steve


#117

Originally written in '94 and recently updated. A song for our times…

Statistician studies Titian
The hand up his arse is the politician’s
Red-headed women
And a Disraeli disposition
What lack of vision
I want to kill somebody

Hold my hate like a knife to their throats
Cut through every muscle
And break every bone
I want to chop their f****g heads off
and stick them on a stake
That’s the extent of my hate
It’s not that I want them dead
It’s just the world would be a better place
if they’d never existed
I want to kill somebody

A statistician studies Titian
Red-headed women
And a Disraeli disposition
What lack of vision
Whoever’s in power,
I’ll be the opposition
I want to kill somebody

So I’m a hypocrite
Because I don’t believe in capital punishment
But here’s my paradoxical quip
‘The people who prescribe it are
the people who should subscribe to it’
It’s not that I want them dead
It’s just the world would be a better place
if they’d never existed
I want to kill somebody

David Cameron and the other one
Boris Johnson, Teresa May
Denis MacShane expenses claim
Miliband Miliband
Jeremy Hunt rhyming slang

I want to kill somebody
Right now!


#118

What she read
All heady books
She’d sit and prophesise
(It took a tattooed boy from
Birkenhead
To really really open her eyes)


#119

It began when they come took me from my home
And put me in Dead Row,
Of which I am nearly wholly innocent, you know.
And i’ll say it again
I…am…not…afraid…to…die.

I began to warm and chill
To objects and their fields,
A ragged cup, a twisted mop
The face of Jesus in my soup
Those sinister dinner meals
The meal trolley’s wicked wheels
A hooked bone rising from my food
All things either good or ungood.

An the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I’m yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
An eye for an eye
A tooth for a tooth
An anyway I told the truth
And I’m not afraid to die.

Interpret signs and catalogue
A blackened tooth, a scarlet fog.
The walls are bad. Black. Bottom kind.
They are the sick breath at my hind
They are the sick breath at my hind
They are the sick breath at my hind
They are the sick breath gathering at my hind

I hear stories from the chamber
How Christ was born into a manger
And like some ragged stranger
Died upon the cross
And might I say it seems so fitting in its way
He was a carpenter by trade
Or at least that’s what I’m told.

Like my good hand I
Tattooed E.V.I.L. across it’s brother’s fist
That filthy five! They did nothing to challenge or resist.

In Heaven His throne is made of gold
The ark of His testament is stowed
A throne from which I’m told
All history does unfold.
Down here it’s made of wood & wire
And my body is on fire
And God is never far away.

Into the mercy seat I climb
My head is shaved, my head is wired
And like a moth that tries
To enter the bright eye
I go shuffling out of life
Just to hide in death awhile
And anyway I never lied.

My kill-hand is called E.V.I.L
Wears a wedding band that’s G.O.O.D
‘Tis a long-suffering shackle
Collaring all that rebel blood.

And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I’m yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
And an eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
And anyway I told the truth
And I’m not afraid to die.

And the mercy seat is burning
And I think my head is glowing
And in a way I’m hoping
To be done with all this weighing up of truth.
An eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
And I’ve got nothing left to lose
And I’m not afraid to die.

And the mercy seat is glowing
And I think my head is smoking
And in a way I’m hoping
To be done with all these looks of disbelief.
An eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
And anyway there was no proof
Nor a motive why.

And the mercy seat is smoking
And I think my head is melting
And in a way I’m helping
To be done with all this twisting of the truth.
A lie for a lie
And a truth for a truth
And I’ve got nothing left to lose
And I’m not afraid to die.

And the mercy seat is melting
And I think my blood is boiling
And in a way I’m spoiling
All the fun with all this truth and consequence.
An eye for an eye
An a truth for a truth
And anyway I told the truth
And I’m not afraid to die.

And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I’m yearning
To be done with all this measuring of proof.
A life for a life
And a truth for a truth
And anyway there was no proof
But I’m not afraid to tell a lie.

And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I’m yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
An eye for an eye
And a truth for a truth
And anyway I told the truth
But I’m afraid I told a lie.


#120

The scent of Thyme carried on the wind,
stings your face into remembering
cruel nature has won again.

On Battleship Hill’s caved in trenches,
a hateful feeling still lingers,
even now, 80 years later.
Cruel nature.
Cruel, cruel nature.

The land returns to how it has always been.
The scent of Thyme carried on the wind.
Jagged mountains, jutting out,
crags like teeth in a rotten mouth.
On Battleship Hill I hear the wind,
Say “Cruel nature has won again.”