1. |
Cyclist From Hell
04:51
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I cycle bravely and I cycle without fear
I cycle with the sounds of road rage ringing in my ear.
I cycle for the planet, I cycle for the trees
I cycle so that we can have more fresh air to breathe
But mostly I just cycle ‘cause I can’t afford a car
I can’t afford a car and walking is too far.
I cycle like a concord, I cycle like a snail
I cycle like a stop sign after ten pints of ale
The motorists all hate me because I cycle slow
And because I cycle in the middle of the road
But mostly I just cycle ‘cause I can’t afford a car
Can’t afford a bloody car and walking is too far.
I signal left and I turn right
I go through red traffic lights
Crash with a mercedes benz
Leave a scratch and a dent
He calls me a stupid prick
I call him a brainless jerk
I say “Keep your hat n Mate
There’s no need to go Berserk”.
I cycle for my daily dose of carbon monoxide
And because I’m crazy and I’m drawn to suicide
You’ll find me in traffic jams, whistling a tune
Following the motorcars, following the fumes
I breathe in pollution and I breathe out gasoline
I’m a cycling atmosphere recycling machine.
If you cycle on the footpath the pedestrians despair
If you cycle in Hyde Park the equestrians will sneer
I cycled in Selfridges, nobody seemed to mind
Went up and down the escalators 57 times
I’d cycle on the Euston Road but I don’t want to die
Cars and trucks would knock me down and squash me like a fly.
You signal left and you turn right
I catch you at the traffic lights
You’re driving a range rover
On the curve you take me over
Then you get caught behind a bus
I pass you in a cloud of dust
We both meet at the next stop sign
We both get across town in about the same time.
I cycled round New Zealand where the wind blows from behind
I cycled over glaciers but only in my mind
I put on space suit and cycled to the moon
They’ll be putting cycle lanes in outer space real soon
We’ll go round the universe on a bicycle
We’ll take lots of Mars bars for fuel.
I cycle in the rain and I cycle in a storm
I cycle till I’m tired and I’m frozen and forlorn
I cycle ‘cause we have to improve air quality
And that is why the motorists should all give way to me
But mostly I just cycle ‘cause I can’t afford a car
Can’t afford a bloody car, and walking is too far.
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2. |
Organic Song
03:27
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I’ve really gone organic, if I seem a little manic
It’s because I’m on organic cocaine.
Down at the organic bar I smoked an organic cigar
And drank organic vodka and champagne.
For vitality, it’s a guarantee
Because it’s such a natural thing to do.
But as soon as they produce organic solvents for abuse
Maybe we could sniff organic glue.
Organic faggots stuffed with organic maggots
Very nice, but not twice ,thankyou
Organic cyanide, well what’s the use of that
Apart from healthier, organic dead rats.
Organic’s so expensive ‘cause the farming’s not extensive
But there’s a cheaper way you can be sure
If you eat organic foods , and save up your organic poo
And sell it to organic farmers for manure.
In organic crimpolene, I sniffed organic gasoline
To get higher & higher & higher & higher & higher
But I regret I lit an organic cigarrette
And set myself on organic fire.
I’ve really gone organic, if I seem a little manic
It’s because I’m on organic cocaine
Down at the organic bar I smoked an organic cigar
And drank organic vodka and champagne.
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3. |
Fading Roses
04:34
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On the King's Road the fading roses
Ectomorphic figures, isomorphic noses
Growing old in fits and stages
Struggling to hide their ages
Faint hope purchased in a jar
It’s anti-wrinkle cream from Nivea
If you look closely, you can tell
That it doesn’t work too well
But they could have it if they wanted,
Never fading or concealing
We have beauty if we feel it
Beauty is only a feeling
Beyond the King’s Road, other scenes
Beyond lost short term memories
And hip replacement, and tumour
Beauty is a sense of humour
In the mirror that old face
Sees the truth without distaste
The truth is a much fairer deal
You’re only as ugly as you feel
And you could have it if you wanted
Never fading or concealing
We have beauty if we feel it
Beauty is only a feeling
And in the fashion magazines
That undermine our self esteem
They worship thin and sickly creatures
And tell us to imitate their features
But the beauty industry
Got no money out of we
Who slouched around in unseemly poses
And never gave a damn about looking like roses
And we could have it if we wanted
Never fading or concealing
We have beauty if we feel it
Beauty is only a feeling
On the King’s Road elegant poses
Ectomorphic figures, isomorphic noses
Roses young and roses old
Still believe the lies they’re told
That a dress a lotion or a diet
Will give them beauty if they buy it
All that lovely money wasted
And the real thing still not tasted
But they could have it if they wanted
Never fading or concealing
We have beauty if we feel it
Beauty is only a feeling
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4. |
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5. |
The Poet
01:32
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The poet loves his poetry
It really takes him over
Swimming in a sea of words
You’ll find him drunk or sober
Spouting out his half rhymes
He’s exuberant and vocal
With an audience of seven
In the backroom at the local.
"Don’t give up the dayjob"
Seven listeners cried together
"You must work to make your living
Write your poetry for leisure
For when you’re old and sad
with no security from BUPA
You’ll be drowning in the gutter
in a pool of Tennants Super".
But the poet loves his poems
Blind ambition takes him over
Now he’s looking for a publisher
And media exposure.
His life is not a tea party
But he feels like he’s in heaven
Reciting screeds of lovely poems
To an audience of seven.
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6. |
Wrong Train
05:06
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It was a complicated time table, I couldn't get it right
I was reading it without my glasses on the train at night
I missed the next announcement that said “Passengers All Change”
I spent all night at that station In the rain
Right time table, wrong train !
Right time table, wrong train !
I thought I'd go and see my uncle in Newcastle upon Tyne
I purchased the right ticket, the train left at the right time
To my horror I was put off at Newcastle under Lyme
I approached the station master to enquire
He said, “Right town, wrong shire”
Right town, wrong shire !
And I've been all around this country on the wrong train
At the right time of year when the tourists came
I was here for the scenery while the weather was all right.
I didn't see the scenery, I was travelling by night
And I've been all around on the wrong train.
I set off for Aberdeen in my sandals and my shorts
But I forgot to pack the winter woollies I had bought
Well I stood there at the station with the northern lights aglow
When an east wind whistled round my ears and suddenly it snowed
Right town, wrong clothes !
Right town, wrong clothes !
I took the right train for Yorkshire. I got off at the wrong town
The conductor said “Don't Worry Love” as the stars were shining down
Well I found the right hotel and ordered the right champagne
When I realised I'd left all of my baggage on the train.
Right champagne, baggage on the train !
Right champagne, baggage on the train !
Now my money is all gone I'm as foolish as can be
I paid Piccadilly prices for sandwiches and tea
I'll have to earn my plane fare home working in a London bar
And New Zealand seems appealing from afar
Some say it's not the most exciting place to be
But right now 60 million sheep seem inviting to me.
I'm a complicated tourist on the wrong train of thought
I came for a nice vacation but my plans have come to nought
I sent postcards to my family saying “It Surely Was A Lark,
I've seen every railway station in this country in the dark
And I've been all around on the wrong train".
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7. |
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I hate singer/songwriters they really drive me nuts
Show me one with an original tune that ain’t a verbal klutz
I hate singer/songwriters, I’d really like to ban ‘em
I’d like to terminate them all, trouble is I am one
The boys all sound like Dylan and the girls all sound like Joni
Their tunes are unoriginal, their sentiments are phony
And they’re all conceited and they all want to be stars
They all pose in arty photographs draped around guitars.
And I hate the ones who’s melodies are clumsily constructed
And the ones who’s plot lines are unskilfully deducted
And the ones who always have a bloody boring chorus
And the ones who break the rules by using a thesaurus
And I hate the introverted ones who sing about self pity
And the loud mouthed cheeky ones who think they’re being witty
The cynical, sarcastic and the angry and ironic
Critical, political, self righteous and sardonic.
I hate singer/songwriters their lives are just a farce
They think that when we hear their songs we’ll want to lick their arse
And I hate singer/songwriters but I must watch what I say
I’d hate myself to hear myself insult myself that way.
Hear comes fifteen singer/songwriters all clutching promo kits
I’ll have to put my earplugs in my anus they give me the shits
Now they’re up on stage, watch them struggle for applause
Like fickle politicians latching on to any cause.
And I hate the ones who sing about their feelings and emotions
And the ones who postulate unscientific notions
And the esoteric ones who’s lyrics don’t make sense.
Do they do that deliberately or are they rather dense ?
And what about the ones who do those vocal acrobatics.
Do they suffer from pain or are they trying to be dramatic ?
And the cliché ridden ones who lack imagination
And the sad old famous ones who’ve lost all inspiration.
I hate singer/songwriters they’re really very sad.
But wait a minute, I am one
Oh dear what a drag.
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8. |
Friendly Song
02:52
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You were a friend to me
When I had cable TV
Since my cable TV broke down
Friend, you stopped coming around
I can’t say that I minded
My coffee bill subsided
My fridge was full and my couch was clear
And my psoriasis disappeared.
So if you’re down and troubled
And you need some loving care
I’ll be running, I’ll be out of your hair.
I’ll be anywhere but there for you
Cause you got a friend . . . .
But she’s not that friendly.
Sometimes I think the best friends for me
Are the ones that live over the sea
You don’t have to lend them finance
Or help them through a crapped out romance
I’ve been friends with you again
Since you went to live in Spain
I wrote a letter to explain
That you got a friend . . .
But she’s not that friendly.
Oh what a lovely peaceful existence
When my friends keep their distance
No, No, No, I don’t mean go away
But, then again, I don’t mean stay
I’m troubled by society
I’m temperamental and I’m touchy
My psychotherapist said I
Was hostile and paranoid and cynical and shy
So, friend, I’d have you for my saviour
But I can’t handle your behaviour.
And if you’re down and troubled
And you need some loving care,
I’ll be running, I’ll be out of your hair
I’ll be anywhere but there for you
'Cause you got a friend . . . . .
But she’s not that friendly.
So please don’t do me any favours,
If I’m lonely I’ll watch neighbours . . . . .
You got a friend.
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9. |
Daring Adventures
04:19
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10. |
The Funeral
04:01
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At the funeral
I tried so hard to feel sad
At the funeral
I tried so hard not to be glad
The organist played
The hymns all in the wrong key
Everyone except Uncle Arthur
Tried to sing quietly.
So she finally died
Grumpy old Aunty Sybil
She’d reached 95
Living like a vegetable
I tried to fake a few tears
For there was hardly a murmur of grief
Except for her aging daughter
Who cried a few tears of relief.
Then somebody said a few words
To console and alleviate
The pain of our suffering
While I tried hard to stay awake
She’d had an interesting life
For honesty she was renowned
I tried not to remember the time
She told my boyfriend that I slept around.
At the reading of the will feelings were hurt
She left all of her money to the church
She left me her opera glasses
I tried really hard to look pleased
And whispered to my cousin
“How much will you give me for these?”
The reception was very nice
We greedily guzzled the wine
Stuffed ourselves with sandwiches
And tried not to have a good time
At least she’d had a long life
We toasted her graciously
And I tried hard not to be glad
That it was Aunt Sybil who died and not me.
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11. |
Prozac
04:45
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Monday she came to my office and said
“Today I feel emotionally dead
Too much wisdom has made me cynical
Just when I’ve reached life’s pinnacle.”
She said “ I’ve absorbed the finest culture and art
Until I’ve become a fussy old tart
I’ve pursued life’s achievers and winners
Now I’m hard to satisfy and intolerant of beginners.”
I said “cheer up this should be your finest hour
You should see yourself as a beautiful flower”
But she broke down and cried, she threatened suicide and said
“No thanks, I’d rather take prozac.”
Tuesday she came in as low as the weather
I poured the tea and we sat down together
Her statements were still very cynical
She was teetering on life’s pinnacle
She said “ I’ve been consumed by cold hard facts
Until I’ve become tough like an axe
And I’ve chopped and I’ve pruned in my successful career
Until I chopped up everything I held dear."
Thursday she kept her appointment again
Her makeup was smudged, her face was tearstained
Well it almost made me cynical
To see her wobbling around on life’s pinnacle
She said “oh dear, poor me, what’s the use ?
Was it my potty training that started all this self abuse ?
And how can I ever be beautiful
With my nails bitten down to the cuticle?”
Well I do my best for psycotherapy
Though it does my head in to a degree
So I told her to take up yoga or tai chi
And advised her to cut down on prozac.
But she moaned and complained and she made such a fuss
So I suggested she throw herself under a bus
Which turned out to be highly unethical
Though I only meant it hypothetical.
Well she complained to the psycotherapist’s association
Two days later I received my notification
Now I’m back on the dole but with a sense of elation
And a repeaat prescription for prozac.
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12. |
Don't Rush Me
03:10
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Don’t rush me !
Cause my feet won’t go any faster
And I’m trying to avoid a disaster
Though you say that I’m not cost effective
And I’m three weeks behind the objective
But I must take time for a lunchbreak
To be sure that I don’t get a headache
And I’ll get more done in the long run
Especially if I have a creamcake.
Time is money !
That’s what you say whenever you see me
Tearing your hair in a frenzy
Annoyed by my strange sense of humour
I said “slow down or you’ll get a tumour”
As you frantically ran for taxi
And I thought you were going to smack me
When I dared to say “can I have more pay?”
But you frowned at me then you sacked me.
You came back from the staff managerial course
All fired up with a new tour de force
But we’re not stupid and we soon got bored
With your non - financial rewards.
No one’s indispensable !
And you’ll survive without my assistance.
Though my assistance was mostly resistance
Because you became a slave driver
My xmas bonus was only a fiver
And your sense of importance is misplaced
So how could I keep a straight face
Around a man with so many mobile phones --
One in each pocket and two in your briefcase.
You came back from the staff managerial course
All fired up with a new tour de force
But we’re not stupid and we soon got bored
With your non - financial rewards.
Don’t rush me !
Cause my feet won’t go any faster
No arseholes intent on disaster
Shall convince me to run in your rat race
I’m just cruising along at my own pace
While you push and shove at every angle
And get your tits in a tangle
To the creak of your tensed up muscles and bones
And the bleep, bleep, bleep of your mobile phones.
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13. |
Legs and Wheels
02:06
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I got legs and you got wheels
You got hubcaps and I got heels
You’re stuck in the traffic queue
I’ll get to Sainsburys before you
Sitting there you look so grim
Breathing the exhaust fumes in
Sweating in the London heat
Thighs stuck to the vinyl seat.
At Sainsburys the queues were drastic
I paid cash, you paid with plastic
I joined the cash only queue
Got served twice as fast as you.
We go to extreme expense
Avoiding inconvenience.
For our money and our trouble
Inconvenience is double.
I got home at ten past three,
Made myself a cup of tea,
Looked out the window, there was you
Stuck in another traffic queue.
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14. |
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When I was seven I felt most in heaven
Rolling around on wheels
Saturdays down at the hall were chaos
We were spinning and crashing on wheels
With the juke box cranked up to a deafening pitch
Playing Please Please Me or Love Me Do
But when I was seven I felt most in heaven
Roller skating to the Blue Danube.
We were three little bitches all dressed up as witches
And round and around we would zoom
With mischief disguised in our devious eyes
Trying to trip up the boys with a broom
But the slap of bare thighs on cold concrete
Left a pain and a big purple bruise
Just a small price to pay for spending the day
Roller skating to The Blue Danube.
At the competitions our Mums had ambitions
But we were just there to show off
We thought ourselves smart in our silly short dresses
And persil white long frilly socks
I practised for weeks to be perfect
But the stones on the floor were bad news
I felt such a disgrace, I fell flat on my face
Roller skating to The Blue Danube.
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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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