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Текст песни Hitchcock Robyn - Gran

Hitchcock Robyn - Gran слова песни




Alone and pointless by her mouldering self,she stares at the tin of sardines on the shelf.By a parafin lamp in a dingy brown room,Gran sits and broods in the thickening gloom.It`s a gloom that congeals it`s so greasy and thick,You could cut into strips and roast on a stick.And hand round to friends, but there`s nobody there,just Gran, on her own, in a miserable chair.So don`t point it at me, point it at Gran.She needs it more than I do, and more than Princes Anne.When Princess Anne`s 82 and living in a room room flat in Hackney,maybe she could do ... with a bit as well.Don`t point it me, don`t point at it yourself.Just point it at Gran and the sardines on the shelf.Don`t point it at me, I`ve had more than enough.Just point it at Gran, she could do with plenty of stuff.Don`t point it at me, point it Gran.Well, it could be a firehose, or it could be a flan.Now, some people are happy and some people are bored,and some people are left and completely ignored.So why should your life end on a dismal note?

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