1. |
Lentils
04:01
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Lentils
Life was cheap, our thoughts were deep
We did not wash for 40 weeks
We ate the brown rice and the lentils
We thought we were so existential
We did not weep, we took a leap
To the bottom of the social heap
The view was clearer than from the top
Our wisdom flourished, our wealth did not.
The social ladder it was too steep
We watched our friends climb up so high
Then we watched them wave bye bye
Disappearing in the sky
We smoked a pipe, we grew a beard
The neighbours thought that we were weird
We were weird but we were not glum
Wasting our youth was too much fun.
We were not dense, we lived in tents
To cut down on bills and rent
Under umbrellas, we ate the lentils
We thought we were so environmental
We did not mope, we bought the dope
With the money that we saved on soap
We made our choices and there was time
So if things went wrong we could change our minds.
The corporate ladder it was too steep
We watched our friends climb up so high
Then we watched them wave bye bye
Disappearing in the sky
We smoked a pipe, we grew a beard
The neighbours thought that we were weird
We were weird but we were not glum
Wasting our youth was too much fun.
Was it uncouth, to spend our youth
Throwing parties on the roof ?
Our new friends were not respectable
Our old friends became aloof
We wrote a poem, like Leonard Cohen
About not knowin’ where we were goin’
And so we stumbled through the years
Chasing a stream of peculiar ideas
While the mice, the ticks and lice
The weevils thrived in the brown rice
The days went round. Our lives did go
The price of lentils stayed reasonably low.
And we’ve no regrets about the debts
Or the savings we did not collect
We’ll spend our old age eating lentils
With no spare cash for non-essentials
There’ll be no trips on luxury ships
No new false teeth or plastic hips
And as for choices, there’s nothing left
But to become Buddhist nuns, I guess.
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2. |
Shrunken Sisters
04:23
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Three Shrunken Sisters
The 214 is a wonky bus
The journey can be arduous
From Highgate Hill it rumbles down
Through Gospel Oak and Kentish Town
The driver stops at Plender Street
To board the customary queue
The passengers will have to move
To seat three shrunken sisters.
Just three shrunken sisters
With greying hair and whiskers
They walk like frail snails
We all hail the pale, frail snails
When three old girls are safely stowed
The bus continues down the road
And stops at Royal College Street
To unload three shrunken sisters.
The 214 it creaks and groans
With the arguments and the mobile phones
And the shopping trolleys in the aisles
It rumbles on for miles and miles
And when it gets to Plender Street
To board the antiquary queue
The passengers will have to move
To seat two shrunken sisters.
Just two shrunken sisters
Weighed down with bags of biscuits
They look like wise old owls
One smiles and the other scowls
When two old girls are safely stowed
The bus continues down the road
And stops at Royal College Street
To unload two shrunken sisters.
The 214 it shivers down
Through a cold and wintry Camden Town
The windows are jammed open
And the heating system's broken
The driver stops at Plender Street
To board the solitary queue
The passengers will have to move
To seat one shrunken sister.
Just one shrunken sister
The grim reaper must have missed her
Perhaps he didn't like to kiss her
Crispy frozen whiskers
When one old girl is safely stowed
The bus continues down the road
And stops at Royal College St
To unload one shrunken sister.
Now summer's come to Camden Town
The trees are blooming all around
The 214 is boiling hot
With the heaters on and the windows locked
It's been a while since we took that ride
Since the last of the shrunken sisters died
The bus pulls up at Plender St
And right before our eyes
Are three shrunken sisters
At the bus stop waiting
'Yes we're still alive' they say
'We've just been hibernating'.
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3. |
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The Poet and the Engineer
In the next life you'll be the poet
And I'll be the engineer
When you fail your exams
I'll cuff you round the ear
And I'll build the dams and bridges
I'll be clever with machines
And qualify for employment
Working on government schemes.
While you dream out the window
Away with the trees and birds
Stars in your eyes, staring at the skies
With a head full of beautiful words.
Head full of beautiful words . . . . . . .
But poetry won't make you any money
Rhymes won't get you far
How will you raise a family
Or buy a house and car
But I guess you'll find cheap lodgings
And shit jobs to cover the rent
And travel around on a bicycle
And never be extravagant.
You'll travel around on a bicycle
And keep your credit card clear
And keep your lifestyle practical
Like an engineer.
While you dream out the window
Away with the trees and birds.
Stars in your eyes, staring at the skies
With a head full of beautiful words.
Head full of beautiful words . . . . . . .
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4. |
Gig Anxiety Dream
02:47
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Gig Anxiety Dream.
When your fingers slide round the guitar
Like the slippery legs of a toad
And sweat pours down like a river
And your spectacles slide off your nose
It’s a posh gig in Fitzrovia
Following a guy who’s better than Segovia
You’re in the wrong key again
You left your capo on the train
And paralysis is taking over
And your set list is home in the washing
In the pocket of your other jeans
So you pray to wake up and find
It’s only a gig anxiety dream.
But your guitar is in lost property in Melbourne
And your bass player’s on the wrong plane
And your flatpick got sucked into a black hole
Along with all of the lyrics in your brain.
So your fumble and mess up the chords
While the audience is looking bored
They’re posting videos of your mistakes on facebook
And three disgruntled babies start to howl
It’s a moonlight gig in Australia
When a firefly in all it’s regalia
Flies into your throat and you choke
And go flat down in bed of prickly Azalea
And your set list is home in the washing
In the pocket of your other jeans
So you pray to wake up and find
It’s only a gig anxiety dream.
But your guitar is in a landfill site in Mumbai
And your smart phone just fell down the drain
Along with the contact details of the venue
And of the man who supplies the cocaine.
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5. |
Star Stalker
02:50
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Star Stalker
I’m a star stalker, I like to stalk a star
I stalk ‘em while I walk, I stalk ‘em in my car
I stalk ‘em like a hawk, I stalk ‘em just to talk
I stalk ‘em with a knife and fork !
I write on a blackboard, with a piece of chalk
A list of all the stars I’d like to stalk
Mickey Rourke, Michael York, and Bjork
And (if I get desperate) Bob Hawke.
But I’m always in misery
For though I stalk a star, no one stalks me
I could have been a star, but I sank before I rose
Which is why I don’t get stalked, I suppose.
When I first started stalking, I did lots of walking
But I could not walk far, so I stalked Stephen Hawking
I said, “Look here, Stephen, I’m only gawking”
The cops took me away in a car.
I’m such an avid stalker, I even stalked a stork
The stork began to squawk, I felt like such a dork
When it chased me all the way from Senegal to Cork
Now I'm hiding in a cupboard in New York.
I’m a corker of a stalker, I went to Majorca
Where I stalked Bjork and I pricked her with my fork
But Bjork began to squawk, even louder than the stork
I stuffed her cakehole with a cork.
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6. |
Record Contract
02:19
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Record Contract
The truth is I'm not very sexy
I'm not very sexy at all
The things that should excite and entice me
Simply fail to enthral
I'd rather have a good hot dinner
I'd rather have a nice cup of tea
I'll never make much of a sinner
Sex is not for me.
The psychiatrist says I'm unhappy
He says I must be in despair
But I've searched through my feelings and emotions
And I don't care
Although I did have sex with the psychiatrist
But only cause he offered me a cheaper rate
I lay there like a sack of potatoes
The psychiatrist thought that it was great.
The truth is I'm not very frisky
I'm not very frisky I say
I'd rather have a bottle of whisky
Anyday
Which is why I haven't got a record contract
I'm getting old and I'm not frisky and I drink
And I don't prance around and shake my bumcakes
And I have a tendency to say what I think.
Which is why I haven't got a record contract
The record company was not impressed
Because I didn't proposition the executive
And I didn't have a song about sex.
And the truth is I'm not very sexy
And I don't look like I'm about to go out whoring
Which is why I haven't got a record contract
Or maybe it's because my songs are boring
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Kath Tait London, UK
Bio: Kath Tait is a songwriter from New Zealand, living in London. She writes about her life as a carer, a hippy, an itinerant bard and a wholefood freak. Described as ‘wonky and eccentric’ she is an empathetic and intelligent lyricist.
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