1. |
Weird Beard
02:41
|
|||
WEIRD BEARD
Do you dig the beat?
Well it's reet complete.
Does it go, man, go?
Solid, Daddio!
Weird Beard - My baby love Juliette Grecco
Weird Beard - My baby love Jean Paul Sartre
Weird Beard - My baby love Modern Jazz, now
Weird Beard - My baby love Abstract Art.
Beatnik, Beatnik, dirty scruffy Beatnik!
They shout as we go by
Beatnik, Beatnik, dirty scruffy Beatnik!
To my Beatnik love and I.
When the others say, “No, No, No!”
My baby says - Go, man, go!
Weird Beard - My baby wear big dark glasses
Weird Beard - A duffel coat and a black beret
Weird Beard - My baby have a cigarette holder
Weird Beard - We sit around and talk all day.
Beatnik, Beatnik, dirty scruffy Beatnik!
They shout as we go by
Beatnik, Beatnik, dirty scruffy Beatnik!
To my Beatnik love and I.
When the others say, “Now, Now, Now!”
My baby says - Yeah, like wow!
Weird Beard - My baby so intellectual
Weird Beard - But I love her anyhow.
We walk the Left Bank holding hands
The Seine reflects the sky above
She says it’s existential,
I say it's love... I say it's love...
Dig the drummer’s chops!
They’re the mostest, Pops.
As hip as Kerouac,
He’s beatific, Jack!
When the others say No, No, No,
My baby says - Go, man, go!
Weird Beard - My baby love leatherwork sandals
Weird Beard - My baby love Abstract Art
Weird Beard - My baby love Juliette Greco
Weird Beard - My baby love Jean Paul Sartre
My baby love Jean Paul Sartre
My baby love Jean Paul, Jean Paul, Jean Paul Sartre.
|
||||
2. |
I'm Through
03:34
|
|||
I’M THROUGH
I’m through with always being pleasant
I’m through always believing what I’m told
I feel l like a bolshie adolescent
Who’s somehow grown grotesquely old
I’m through with ‘I must persevere’.
I’m through with striving for success
I’m through with my soi-disant ‘career’.
God knows I’m through
With everything but you.
I’m through with always slaving on some epic
For which demand will never match supply
I’m through with my protestant work ethic
Just want to sit and watch the sky.
I’m through, I’m resigning, I’m rebelling.
I’m through, I’m walking off the field of play.
I hope the universe can hear me yelling
I’m finally through
With everything but you.
‘Life is mostly froth and bubble
But two things stand like stone
Kindness in another’s trouble
And courage in your own.’
I stole those words from some old poem
I set those words to music of a sort
But you seem to live those words every moment
Without a second thought.
So I’m through with the curious assortment
Of things I found significant before.
I’m through with the things that aren’t important
I can’t be bothered anymore.
I’m through with things you’re not a part of.
I’m through with things that do not make you smile
I’m favouring the things you’re at the heart of.
God knows I’m through
With everything but you.
I will stay true
‘Cause I love the things you do.
That’s why I’m through
With everything but you.
|
||||
3. |
Cardboard Suitcase
03:35
|
|||
CARDBOARD SUITCASE
He’s got a cardboard suitcase, and he’s filling it up,
And a plastic rucksack, from the last World Cup.
He had to sell his moped, just to bribe the man,
But he got his visa, and he got a plan;
He’s gonna get out of Whogivesadamnistan.
He’s got a scrap of paper with a Bristol address.
It’s his second cousin, well, more or less.
He’s got a one-time ticket on the Eurobus.
He hasn’t told his Mother ‘cause she’d make a fuss,
But he doesn’t see why he shouldn’t be one of us.
Just like the Romans and the Saxons
And the Vikings and the Jews,
They all shot their load
In my genetic code.
I expect it’s the same with you.
He isn’t a crazy, and he won’t go berserk.
He don’t want a handout, he’s not afraid of work.
And he thinks we’ll like him, from what he’s read.
Maybe find some friends here, maybe find a bed,
And no more soldiers hitting him round the head.
But there’s a situation at his cousin’s place,
‘Cause the Immigration are on his case.
No time for integration, that’s a lifetime career,
And assimilation takes a hundred years,
So for now he thinks he’ll quietly disappear.
Like the Normans and the Lollards,
Just like the Huguenots,
They all had their way
With my DNA,
That’s the way that a nation grows.
Like a cardboard suitcase, when you’re filling it up.
Like a cardboard suitcase, you gotta fill the thing up.
I’m just a cardboard suitcase, they all filled the thing up.
We’re just a cardboard suitcase, you never fill the thing up.
|
||||
4. |
F *ck Me Shoes
03:56
|
|||
F*CK ME SHOES
She sat there crying all alone,
He had sworn blind to her that he would phone.
She wept and wished she’d learned to scream.
We’ve got some issues here with self-esteem,
But she said ‘I’m gonna go out anyway,
‘Cause I don’t have a great deal to loose,
And I think I’ll wear my drop-dead dress
And that pair of f*ck-me shoes.’
Those shoes...Those shoes...
Then she looked at herself in the drop-dead dress
And those outrageous f*ck-me shoes.
And the Mirror sighed
‘You’re a lovely sight’.
Well she almost died
But she knows the Mirror’s right.
She walked out onto that dance-floor
Where she’d often danced with him before,
Pretending she was in a play,
She gets through lots of scary things that way.
She danced alone with her eyes half-shut,
And the space around her grew,
As the crowd watched the light hit her drop-dead dress
And sparkle off each f*ck-me shoe.
Those shoes...Those shoes...
Yes she looked pretty good in that drop-dead dress
And those amazing f*ck-me shoes.
And the young man sighed
‘You’re a lovely sight’
Well she almost died,
But she just said, ‘That’s true, you’re right!’
These days she says, ‘I can’t agree
With your Determinist philosophy.
I have Free Will, and that’s the truth,
That nice new man of mine is living proof.
Predestination doesn’t wash with me,
You always get the chance to choose.
I could have hung my head
And stayed in bed
And put on ‘Simply Red’,
But I chose instead
To put on the f*ck-me shoes.’
Those shoes...Those shoes...
Yes she stomped on the laws
Of Effect and Cause
With those fabulous f*ck-me shoes.
With the patent leather that’s black, black, black,
And the open-toe and the slutty sling-back,
And the five-inch heels that go clack, clack, clack,
Oh, I tell you they were f*ck-me shoes.
|
||||
5. |
Cannonball
03:44
|
|||
CANNONBALL
They count their beans
In rows like suited machines,
Although just like Clark Kent when he
Changes identity,
One of them owns an
Alternate persona
And leather jeans.
Cannonball! Cannonball!
Hear that sound
Shake the ground.
He’s just one little fat man on a Harley,
But he’s got the biggest bike in town.
Cannonball! Cannonball!
Does a ton,
Born to run.
We see one little fat man on a Harley,
He sees James Dean and Brando all in one.
Cannonball! Cannonball!
Not what you seem,
Living the dream.
Polish the chromium,
Pump the petroleum,
Stomp on the starter
And play that toccata
That makes us scream.
Cannonball! Cannonball!
He overcame
His secret shame.
Nobody knows he’s an accountant,
They know him by a different name.
Cannonball! Cannonball!
Tail-light shone,
Then he was gone.
Nobody knows he’s an accountant,
When he has his outlaw leathers on.
Cannonball! Cannonball!
|
||||
6. |
Zoot Suit
02:53
|
|||
ZOOT SUIT
The man in the small suit, he’s a shrimp.
The man in the white suit, he’s a pimp.
But the man in the Zoot Suit is a hipster born,
The fingers snap every time it’s worn.
The man in the small suit... He’s a shrimp.
The man in the white suit... He’s a pimp.
The man in the jump-suit’s wrists are limp.
But the man in the Zoot Suit is a hipster born,
The fingers snap every time it’s worn.
Zoot Suit, Zoot Suit, Zoot Suit...
You know the jacket’s got to come right down to your knees
Zoot Suit, Zoot Suit, Zoot Suit...
And the cuffs on the pants give your ankles a squeeze.
Zoot Suit, Zoot Suit, Zoot Suit...
The man in the small suit... He’s a shrimp.
The man in the white suit... He’s a pimp.
The man in the jump-suit... Wrists are limp.
The man in the rubber suit, he’s a gimp.
But the man in the Zoot Suit is a hipster born,
The fingers snap every time it’s worn.
The fingers snap...The fingers snap...
The fingers snap...The fingers snap...fingers snap...
The man in the small suit... He’s a shrimp.
The man in the white suit... He’s a pimp.
The man in the jump-suit... Wrists are limp.
The man in the rubber suit... He’s a gimp.
The man in the fur suit? that’s a chimp.
But the man in the Zoot Suit is a hipster born,
The fingers snap every time it’s worn.
Zoot Suit, Zoot Suit, Zoot Suit...
The lapels are as big as the living room door.
Zoot Suit, Zoot Suit, Zoot Suit...
And the key-chain hangs right down to the floor.
Zoot Suit, Zoot Suit, Zoot Suit...
|
||||
7. |
Been Alone So Long
04:49
|
|||
BEEN ALONE SO LONG
Been alone so long
That I’ve forgotten what it’s like,
To feel somebody next to me
And hear her breathing peacefully
When I wake-up at night,
Wake-up at night.
Been alone so long
That I’ve forgotten what to say.
If I meet somebody who
Might easily resemble you,
I smile and look away,
I look away.
Been alone so long
That I’ve forgotten what to do,
How to make the whole thing right,
And how to help if she’s uptight,
And when to run and when to fight,
And how to make her stay the night,
That’s if I ever knew,
If I ever knew.
Been alone so long
That I’ve forgotten what it’s like,
To feel somebody next to me
And hear her breathing peacefully
When I wake-up at night,
Wake-up at night.
|
||||
8. |
Darling It's Up To You
03:01
|
|||
DARLING IT’S UP TO YOU
I’ve got a ticket in my pocket,
I’ve another for you.
Hold on. Hold on.
I’ve made a reservation for two.
Hold on. Hold on.
So if you feel inclined
We could start anew,
Or you can stay behind.
Darling, it’s up to you.
We’ve has some fine old times together
And you’d be hard to replace,
Hold on. Hold on.
But you’re like Hamlet with a pretty face.
Hold on. Hold on.
To be or not to be,
You never know what to do.
This time you get no help from me,
Darling, it’s up to you.
I’ve never seen such indecision,
And I’ve tried tears and threats,
Hold on. Hold on.
But you keep hedging your bets.
Hold on. Hold on.
I’ll burn that fence you’re sitting on,
Can’t have your cake and eat it too.
With or without you, I’ll soon be gone,
Darling, it’s up to you.
You won’t find the answer looking in the mirror.
Never mind your make-up,
Make your mind up!
I don’t want second hand emotions,
I don’t want tears from a can.
Hold on. Hold on.
I’m just a practical man.
Hold on. Hold on.
I like things really real,
I like things truly true.
You must know how you feel,
Darling, it’s up to you.
Make your mind up...
Make up your mind... Etc...
|
||||
9. |
Stamping Ground
02:55
|
|||
STAMPING GROUND
It feels strange to be here.
I’ve not been here for years,
But I’m walking around
‘Cause this wild part of town
Was my old stamping ground.
Felt at home here before,
But I’m not any more.
I suppose I was bound
To find changes profound
In my old stamping ground.
No one I know,
They all left years ago.
All the friends that I found
On the merry-go-round
Of my old stamping ground.
Stamp the ground. Stamp the ground.
Stamp, stamp. Stamp it out!
I don’t know why I came,
Only one thing’s the same.
Still get off on the sound
Of my feet as they pound
On my old stamping ground.
|
||||
10. |
||||
Rock’n’Roll,
I think of Rock’n’Roll,
But somehow,
Now I come to count the precious years I’ve wasted
In running after you,
I see you...
Rock‘n'Roll you waste my time,
If I hadn’t done you, I'd be doing fine.
Rock‘n'Roll you wore me out,
I've got nothing left when I twist and shout.
Rock'n’Roll you haunt my dreams,
With your words obscure and your beat obscene.
Rock‘n'Roll you wrecked my life,
You're a beautiful mistress, but a pig of a wife.
Rock'n’Roll you haunt my dreams,
With your words obscure and your beat obscene.
Rock‘n'Roll you wrecked my life,
You're a beautiful mistress, but a pig of a wife.
Rock’n’Roll you' had me on,
You said you'd wait, but I found you'd gone.
Rock n' Roll you've spoilt my fun,
I've been sitting in the corner for your call to come.
Rock’n’Roll you had me on,
You said you'd wait, but I found you'd gone.
Rock’n’Roll you've spoilt my fun,
I've been sitting in the corner for your call to come.
Rock’n’Roll you made me blind.
Get out of my life. Get out of my mind!
Rock’n’Roll please let me go,
You've had fifteen years and I've nothing to show!
Rock’n’Roll you made me blind.
Get out of my life. Get out of my mind.
Rock’n’Roll please let me go,
You've had fifteen years and I've nothing to show.
Rock‘n'Roll you waste my time,
If I hadn’t done you, I'd be doing fine.
Rock‘n'Roll you wore me out,
I've got nothing left when I twist and shout.
Rock’n’Roll...
Rock’n’Roll...
Rock’n’Roll...
Rock’n’Roll.
I won’t do it.
I won’t do it.
I won’t do it anymore,
Oh, no. It’s over.
Write no more songs,
Give up the whole stupid game,
I'll be no worse off, I'll still be the same.
Make something of my job,
And maybe write a book,
Stop searching for the perfect hook.
So...
|
||||
11. |
||||
I'll never be Paul McCartney,
I'll never be Nat King Cole,
And I'll never be top song writer
On the Melody Maker poll.
I'll never be Neil Sedaka,
Gerry Goffin or Carole King,
But I wish I'd wrote just one standard
That people would always sing.
I really don't feel too depressed,
In fact I'm curiously relieved.
Wish I could say no regrets
For all the years that I believed...
That I would be the new Bob Dylan,
And talk on the South Bank Show,
But I wish that I'd found out different
About ten years ago.
Brian Matthew won’t tell my story
In seventeen weekly parts,
And that tour with Tina Turner
Must finish before it starts.
Something is rotten
In the state of Denmark Street,
'Cause with a little help
I could have joined that small Elite.
I might have been a new Cole Porter,
Or maybe an Elton John...
No! I’ve got to stop thinking that way,
I’ve been fooling myself too long.
I’ll never be Richard Rogers,
I’ll never be Lorenz Hart,
And whatever new game I’ll be playing,
I'll be too bloody late to start.
I'll never be Noel Coward,
I'll never be David Bowie,
I'll never be Leonard Bernstein,
I'll never be Buddy Holly.
|
||||
12. |
Ghost In The Machine
03:36
|
|||
GHOST IN THE MACHINE
There's something there deep down inside.
It's very quiet; it likes to hide.
It's there, no matter what they say,
It'll stay,
And it won’t go away,
And it will not decay.
And beneath the decks, in the oily gloom
Of the super tanker’s engine-room,
The Stoker's Mate nearly drops his broom,
As a cry rings out like the crack of doom.
And everyone saw the fixed grimace
Of frozen fear on the Stoker's face,
But he never told them what took place,
And they had to send him back to base,
But the Engineers all knew he'd seen
The Ghost in the Machine.
Ghost in the Machine... Ghost in the Machine...
Ghost in the Machine... Ghost in the Machine...
Everything's looking clean and neat
In the air-conditioned computer-suite.
It's three a.m. and the run's complete,
The computer man can put up his feet.
He throws the switch, but there's something wrong,
The power's off, but the tapes spin on.
The printer keeps typing the word 'Babylon',
And just for a moment, and then it's gone,
Is a shadowy face on the monitor screen,
The Ghost in the Machine.
Ghost in the Machine... Ghost in the Machine...
Ghost in the Machine... Ghost in the Machine...
There's something there deep down inside.
It's very quiet; it likes to hide.
It's there, no matter what they say,
It'll stay,
And it won’t go away,
And it will not decay.
At the new recording studio,
The band all went home hours ago,
But the singer's there and he's feeling low,
'Cos the music's sounding dull and slow.
He plays the tape back just once more,
But there's something there he's never heard before,
A vocal track that he did not record,
Just the eerie sound that he was looking for,
But who is the voice on track thirteen?
The Ghost in the Machine.
Ghost in the Machine... Ghost in the Machine...
Ghost in the Machine... Ghost in the Machine...
In the underground laboratory,
They are searching electronically
For the part of the anatomy
That contains your own identity.
They have ransacked through the human brain,
And they know what all the bits contain,
But their search for the soul has been in vain,
'Cause what thinks the thoughts? What feels the pain?
The answer is what it's always been,
Ghost in the Machine.
Ghost in the Machine... Ghost in the Machine...
Ghost in the Machine... Ghost in the Machine...
|
||||
13. |
Rover 90
04:00
|
|||
ROVER 90
Jump in my Rover 90, and I’ll drive you down the road.
Jump in my Rover 90, and I’ll drive you down the road.
You’d better get ready, you’d better get ready,
For some sensory overload.
Bounce on my bumper, Baby. I’ll show you how my motor go.
Bounce on my bumper, Baby. I’ll show you how my motor go.
It’s under the bonnet, you’re sitting right on it.
How it gets there I don’t know.
And Honda say....
Yes, hop in tout suite Cherie, I’ve some ale inside the boot.
Yes, hop in tout suite Cherie, I’ve some ale inside the boot.
Jump in my four-seater, the tout-er the sweeter,
And the sweeter is the toot.
Bring me my string-back driving gloves,
We’ll take the motors for a spin.
You drive the Humber Super Snipe,
I’ll take the Jowett Javelin.
I’ll race you up the Oxford Road
From Uxbridge, north to Gerrards Cross,
And you can be Pat Moss,
And I’ll be Mister Toad.
Jump in my Rover 90, and I’ll drive you down the road.
Bounce on my bumper, Baby. I’ll show you how my motor go.
Bounce on my bumper, Baby. I’ll show you how my motor go.
It’s under the bonnet, you’re sitting right on it.
How it gets there I don’t know.
Jump in my Rover 90, and I’ll drive you down the road.
Jump in my Rover 90, and I’ll drive you down the road.
You’d better get ready, you’d better get ready,
For some sensory overload.
And Honda say....
And Nissan say....
Toyota say....
Mitsubishi say....
And Mazda say...
Suzuki say...
|
||||
14. |
The Selfish Shellfish
03:30
|
|||
THE SELFISH SHELLFISH
I chose to lead the quieter sort of artist’s life,
No kids, no wife,
They weren’t part of my plan.
And sometimes I have conversations with the dead,
I’m off my head,
A quite peculiar man.
And if you say I should proceed a good deal more like other chaps,
I’d say, ‘Perhaps,
But that’s the way I am’.
And if you say this clearly shows a certain lack of moral health,
I’d say, ‘Go f *ck yourself!
I’m happy as a clam.’
I may be a selfish shellfish,
Just a crusty old crustacean
With ideas above his station.
Yes I may be a selfish shellfish,
But here within my cloister,
The whole cosmos is my oyster,
And as the fish swim past, I hear one cry,
‘That’s the prawn that makes those records
That no one wants to buy’.
I seem to have a certain knack for melodies
With harmonies
That linger in the mind.
But a critic pointed out that all my songs appeared
To be quite weird,
And he was being kind.
And if you say I should have used this gift to make a bob or two,
I’d say, ‘That’s true.
I’ve probably been a fool’
And if you say my work has failed and thus my life has been misspent,
I’d say, ‘Get bent!’
I’m stubborn as a moule.
I may be a selfish shellfish,
A sort of crabby hermit
Who makes art without a permit.
Yes, I may be a selfish shellfish,
But let the flashy abalones
Win applause by being phoneys,
I will stay under my rock and do my art.
To be such a lucky winkle, warms the cockles of my heart.
I may be a selfish shellfish,
Like a scallop or an ormer,
But perhaps more like the former.
Yes, I may be a selfish shellfish,
Of the order Gastropoda,
With a charming, fishy odour.
Yes, I may be a selfish shellfish,
But you can have too much of me,
I can bring on an allergy.
And so I’ll really have to try
To say ‘Goodbye, good bivalve, goodbye.’
|
JUDGE SMITH Glastonbury, UK
Judge Smith co-founded the band Van der Graaf Generator in 1967 with Peter Hammill, & has since been involved in many music projects as writer, composer or performer. He has written stage musicals, classical & rock libretti, songs for television & a book on Life after Death; directed a prize-winning short film, & released fourteen CDs & two DVDs. He was born in 1948 & lives near Glastonbury, UK. ... more
Streaming and Download help
If you like JUDGE SMITH, you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp